


I’m 4 parallel universes ahead of you

by QuackyDucky



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series), Rapunzel's Tangled Adventure (Cartoon), Tangled (2010)
Genre: Andrew is a dick, Angst, But this isn’t for kids, Canon Divergent, Comfort comes much later on though, Crossover, Gen, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, I can’t write romance, Insomnia, Manipulation, Nightmares, Nothing Sexual, POV Multiple, Platonic Relationships, Politics, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sickness, Starvation, Thoughts of death, Threats, Trauma, Underage Drinking, Varian Has Issues (Disney), Varian centric, What is a ‘science’, Whump, adding tags as i go!, fall damage exists in this universe, heaven/hell discussions, it delves into some...stuff, never heard of it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-25
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:21:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 21
Words: 40,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22899430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuackyDucky/pseuds/QuackyDucky
Summary: Varian’s been in prison for a while now. He’s dirty and starving. Coming up with ways to escape become harder and harder each day due to to his rapidly deteriorating health.Will Varian be able to make it to the outside world? Or will he die in the process?
Relationships: Andrew | Hubert & Varian (Disney: Tangled), Cassandra & Eugene Fitzherbert | Flynn Rider & Rapunzel, Cassandra & Varian (Disney: Tangled), Charlie Magne/Vaggie, King Frederic of Corona & Varian (Disney), Old Lady Crowley & Varian, Pete & Varian, Queen Arianna of Corona & King Frederic of Corona & Rapunzel (Disney), Queen Arianna of Corona & Varian (Disney), Queen Arianna of Corona/King Frederic of Corona (Disney), Quirin & Varian (Disney), Rapunzel & Varian (Disney), The Stabbingtons & Varian
Comments: 201
Kudos: 231





	1. Dreams. Act 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now rewritten for your enjoyment :3 Hope you enjoy the chapter!

At first when Varian wakes up, he honestly thinks he’s back in his house, at home. Where dad is in the kitchen baking that delicious bread of his, the one that Varian still can’t seem to get the recipe right to no matter how many times he tries baking it.

  
...Maybe because It’s dad that makes them. _Nobody’s_ able to beat his dad at anything. Not fighting, cutting firewood, harvesting pumpkins or even baking.

  
The little snippet of normalcy Varian imagined is crushed by the ruthless hands of reality almost immediately.

Varian’s not at home, not even close to it in fact. He’s being kept locked inside this cramped and cold cell, placed on the bottom third floor of the prison. And he’s been trapped here for a whole two weeks now.

Under normal circumstances, Varian would’ve already escaped right about now. Anything he can get his grabby hands on could be used to aid his escape; a pebble, a tray, paper, chalk- absolutely anything.

But there’s a slight problem, the guards seem to know that too, having placed him in a secure cell without any windows or lose bricks.   
  


Varian’s surprised, he almost thought the guards didn’t have common sense at all. With them not even _considering_ the consequences of accepting purple cookies from a total stranger.

  
He’d even be impressed if it weren’t for the fact it makes everything a whole lot harder for him.

But it might have something to do with the place he’s in. The third floor is the place where only the worst of the worst reside.  
The thought is bitter on his tongue. He knows he’s bad, like _really_ bad. And dangerous at that. It’s been imbedded into his brain since like forever.

  
But the thought that he’s placed with a group of people who’ve killed, tortured and _who knows what_ disturbs him. Varian never murdered anyone- never planned to either.

The memory of him crushing Cassi- _Cassandra_ and the queen springs to mind. It makes him purse his lips.  
The fact that he became so emotional- so stupid as to forget the original plan just adds insult to injury regarding his own failure.

  
Varian doesn’t know what came over him in that moment. It’s just...when he saw Rapunzel embracing her own parents, tears of joy running down her face, while Varian sat alone before his encased father...something in him just _snapped_ , sending him into a blind rage.

  
Varian chuckles. It’s a humorless sound, sounding more like coughing.

_  
‘Ah wait, I actually am coughing. Damn it! Don’t tell me I’ve gotten myself sick now!’_

Although, he has to give himself credit where credit is due. Every single person in the prison has catched the so called ‘prison cold’ at some point, even the guards. And he’s proud to say that he was one of the last ones remaining in its path.

  
Varian’s brought out of his internal monologue by Pete quietly rattling the bars of another prisoner’s cell.

  
‘Hurray, it’s food time already!’ 

  
Varian waits eagerly for the moment when his meal’s given to him through the cell’s bars. And when when it does, he becomes severely disappointed. It’s a bowl with no cutlery whatsoever, with a broth smelling vaguely of fish inside.   
  


‘Couldn’t even afford giving me some soup? C’mon.’

  
In the corner of his eye, Varian sees how the Stabbington brothers get a full bowl of cold potatoes and sardines each. It was a good day for the other prisoners today, they get to have the castle’s leftovers.

  
He watches them eat, a look of pure disdain painted onto his face whenever they spill the precious food.

  
‘Pigs.’ Varian thinks with a huff, hearing his own stomach still rumbling despite having just slurped up his broth.

******

Sideburns stabs a fork in the stale potato, putting it in his mouth before it crumbles away. Today’s a good day for all of Corona’s prisoners, they’re actually having a semi decent meal for once. Patchy- his brother seems to be in a relatively good mood too, munching on his food without uttering a single word as usual.

  
Something seems to catch the eye-patched man’s attention though, making him nudge his twin brother’s shoulder, pointing at something behind him. Sideburns puts the fork down on the floor, lazily craning his neck backwards to look.

  
There- just from across the hall, sits Varian- newest prisoner in the prison on his cot- staring at them. The shrimp doesn’t even blink, just follows the twins movements with his eyes, looking like a living ghost.

  
Not one known for having a lot of patience, Sideburns decides to meet the fresh meat’s gaze head on, brown meeting blue. Sideburns tries figuring out what the young alchemist might want from him.

  
Apparently the little guy just seems awfully interested by what he’s eating, going by the looks of...is that _jealousy_ on his face? Over a bowl of _potatoes_ and _sardines?_ The world is certainly filled with strange people indeed.

  
But then it hits Sideburns like a horse. Do the guards not feed him the same as the others? He’s certainly not fed as much. Angling his head upwards a bit, squinting, he can make out faint shape of the bowl which Varian’s holding. There doesn’t look to be any potatoes inside- or sardines for that matter- just a liquid.

  
(He guesses it’s a broth of some kind? But he’s pretty sure broth isn’t supposed to look like that.) it doesn’t doesn’t exactly look appetizing, in any case.

  
It’s a wonder how the little guy’s even alive at this point? With that much food to survive on, no wonder he looks like a walking and talking skeleton that could fall over at any moment.

 _  
‘Poor kid.’_ A distant part of Sideburn’s brain pities. But the second he notices that he’s done so, he immediately locks the thought up deep down in his unconscious, far away from sight. If there’s one thing he’s learned during his lifetime, it’s to never underestimate or pity your opponent. They might use it against you later. Or they might surprise you with the tricks hidden under their sleeves.

  
The saying’s rung true so far, first with Princess Rapunzel- _ugh_ , the mere name makes him want to vomit. And now with Varian, newfound public enemy number one and the one closest person to overthrowing the kingdom so far. You wouldn’t guess _that_ the second you meet him, he can bet. With the big doe eyes and childish features.

Dear god, sometimes he has to remind himself that this is an actual _child_ sitting not too far from him, practically a baby to the criminal world. Yet he managed to do something he and Patchy had tried and failed for years now- on his first try at that.

He should feel insulted by it, he really should. His nonverbal brother certainly does, going by the pissed off looks he throws the shrimp every chance he gets, only to be utterly ignored at every turn by the little brat. But instead he’s kind of impressed by it. With a few more years of experience under his belt, the little Varian guy could be a force to be reckoned with.

  
...

Or that’s what he _would_ have thought, had the rat not given him that mocking look just now, the followup being an out-stuck tongue.

Screw those nice thoughts, he’s gonna strangle this little rat by nightfall.

Unfortunately, the bars placed in front of him exists to prevent that exact thing he wants to do. So he has to get a little creative...

Flipping the bird it is...

...Almost immediately, the bird’s returned from the skinny brat, Sideburns feel his blood reach the boiling point.

Chaos ensues. It’s a full on war between them. They make grimaces and throw insults at each other that would make a sailor blush. It ranges between petty ones like making fun of appearances or full blown boasting, to going for personal attacks on insecurities.

At some pong, the other prisoners dare joining the verbal yet brutal fight. They compete for the crown of the best and wittiest insults in the prison, only getting shortly interrupted by the occasional cough from the prisoners, mostly coming from Varian. 

Sideburns chuckles. ‘ _Looks like the cold got to him after all, eh?_ ’

He turns away from the battle for a moment to check up on whatever Patchy’s been up to. It looks as if he’s doodling a bunch of pictures on the wall with a pebble. The eye-patched twin turns around once feeling the other’s eyes boring into his back. All of his drawings look like poorly done child scribbles, but he doesn’t dare tell him that. So Sideburns just gives him a goodnatured thumbs up and a slight snort.

Of course Patchy hears it, and promptly tackles him onto the floor to get him to apologize. Sideburns bursts out in laughter.

It’s truly been a great day today- at least in comparison to all the other melancholy days that blend together.

The two brothers are so focused on themselves that they forget to pay attention to the young alchemist sitting on his cot, coughing.

If only they’d looked a little closer, they would’ve seen the blood piling up in the back of the seemingly unaware child’s mouth, painting his tongue a crimson red...

******


	2. Simple. Act 1

Pete is a simple guy. He has simple life. Always have and always will. 

He used to live on the country side with his mom and two siblings, then became a guard when he was 18, loyal to the royal family like a dog.

And that’s where his story ends. Nothing more, nothing less. He’s known as the naive guard who’s friends with Stan, the other simple guard.

So when Pete descends down to the third layer of the prison, (horrible place, by the way. Stinks of full grown men who haven’t bathed in at least a month- which is probably true, considering the circumstances.) he doesn’t exactly ponder much of what might be going on down there.

Pete had simple orders from King Frederic himself. _“_ _ Bring the young alchemist, Varian, to the courtroom by sunrise. We’ll have him pay for his crimes.” _

What he didn’t expect when going down there, was that all the people would make grimaces at each other and whisper insults at each other like it’s some kind of competition. This is such a weird thing to see too; criminals, _serial killers_ just casually acting like children. Even the ever so serious Stabbingtons are in on it too. 

Well, you learn something new each day,  he supposes. 

Stepping in front of the cell to the youngest prisoner there easily makes all the prisoners shut their mouths. All of them seem curious as to what might happen to the child.

  
From one of the cells a little farther back, he hears two inmates whisper to each other. It should’ve been impossible to hear, but the eerie silence commonly associated with Corona’s many prisons makes every single breath echo down here. 

“What’s going on?” a girl leans to whisper in her fellow inmates ear.

“I don’t know. Maybe they’ve had enough of the runt.” The other whispers back.

“Do you think they’ll execute him?” the girl asks.

“Maybe, they have done it for crimes lesser than his. It’s certainly a possibility.” Her friend ponders

“But it’s a  child.  I’ve murdered my fair share of people, so I’ve got no room to talk, but even I have some  standards.”  The girl hisses.

Pete, not wanting to listen anymore, decides to hurry his mission up a little bit. Wanting to get out of here as soon as possible.

“Varian of Old Corona, son of Quirin-“ he starts, trying his best to ignore the flinch coming from the criminal in front of him at the mention of his father. 

_ ’Ignore it Pete. Ignore it. For his sake.’ _

He continues on. 

“-You have hereby been ordered by the king himself to follow me to to the courtroom. Do you want to some time to make a case for yourself before we ascend?” Pete says automatically. The sentences so ingrained into his brain that at this point he might as well be able to say it in his sleep.

After that there’s a long and awkward pause. Pete thinks the boy might not have heard him. But just as he’s about to start over again the gangly form rises from his cot and starts walking towards the cell door, the shackles on his thin wrists rattling and head bowed down low as to not to make eye contact.

Despite his inability to see Varian’s whole expression, Peter can clearly see the tension in his frame as he shuffles towards him, lips curled into a light scowl.

Against his better judgement, Pete keeps his right hand close to the scabbard holding his sword. Fearing that the alchemist might try something dangerous. But that makes no sense, in this state he’s practically harmless. No apron or gloves where he can hide chemicals. And the raccoon- Ruddiger, Pete thinks it’s called- was thrown out into the wild the second Varian was put in his cell. 

The only thing left of his personal wardrobe is the clunky goggles. The kid having fought tooth and nail to keep them on, screaming that it was the only thing left from his mom. And well, it would be just cruel to take them away from him then, wouldn’t it?

The royal guards tried to check if they where heavy enough to knock somebody out. But they were luckily too light to cause any serious harm, let alone make somebody pass out. 

When Varian’s simply standing by the door, Pete takes it as a sign that he doesn’t need to prepare himself, that they should just get it over with.

Personally, Pete thinks the kid has been ready for this since Quirin- his father was encased in the amber.

Quickly, he unlocks the cell door and puts a hand on the kids back. Effectively preventing him from any chance of escape, locking the door behind him and leading him through the cold hallways of the prison up to the castle’s warmer ones.

During their walk that couldn’t have been more than five minutes, Pete felt a pang of concern for the young alchemist. In the dim light of the cell, Pete could see how thin the child was, but now, in the bare sunshine, he can take in everything else that he didn’t notice before.

Mainly, Varian’s pale, of course he is, even during the brief minutes he saw him during the science expo, it still looked like he didn’t get enough sunlight. But now...

...The kid‘s paler than the princess’s countless canvases, his skin borderlining on a bluish tint.

And from the little bit of eyes Pete can see under the greasy charcoal hair, they have bruise like eye bags under them.

(Does the kid not sleep?)

Finally, after what seems to be forever, they reach the grand doors of the courtroom. 

Pete sees Stan standing by the left side of the door, guarding it from unwelcome intruders. He gives him a little good morning wave before taking post by the left side of it.

Barely moments later, Varian’s in the hands of another guard who pushes him through the door and closes it quietly after him. 

Pete and Stan sneaks  a slight glance at each other, silently communicating their thoughts through their expressions. 

_ ‘I wish the best for the kid in there, hope King Frederic gives him a fair and just punishment.‘ _

_ ’I hope so too, Stan. I really hope so too.‘ _

******

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pete is an under appreciated cinnamon roll. Change my mind!


	3. Revelations. Act 1

The very moment Varian steps foot inside of the courtroom, everyone immediately turns their heads towards him. Angry and eager to catch a glimpse of the dangerous alchemist. Even the ones who used to ignore him at every turn in the past..

_Huh, how ironic._ Not too long ago, he would have done anything to get them to _see him,_ to _hear him_. And now they do. 

It truly is such a shame that they can’t seem to  _ understand  _ where he’s coming from though. 

_Is it really_ a lie to say that the royals doesn’t care about them? Poor little innocent Freddy over there literally ignored the whole kingdom’s problem with the black rocks, for what?

Protecting unbreakable golden hair hair connected to his backstabber of a daughter? 

No, it isn’t a lie. But the people are still  _ somehow _ undyingly loyal to their king, and any form of resistance is met with pitchforks and being chased out of your own home. He can speak from his own experience.

Just thinking about it makes him want to scream obscenities at everyone. So he tries not to. Tries not to remember the absolute terror and feelings of betrayal he felt when he was being chased down by everyone he’s ever known, _on the exact same night his life turned upside down._

Taking small, quiet steps down the luxurious carpet, Varian takes everything in.

The room is big, bigger than even the throne room. And its ancient walls and ceilings are covered in all shades of gold. 

It almost seems like the whole kingdom is in this one room, eager to see the trial of the kingdoms biggest threat since its making. And boy do they look pissed. 

Feldspar and Crowley have taken a liking to glaring daggers through his skull, looking as if he’s personally wronged them.  _ Which is fair.  _ Xavier doesn’t even bother to look at his face

All the mass amounts of negative attention makes him feel incredibly guilty. 

He’s probably scarred them all for life. He never wanted to  hurt  _any_ of them. He just needed the princess’s attention to make her help free his dad! She wouldn’t come otherwise!

Oh, dad. What would he do if he was here right now? Probably be incredibly ashamed, maybe he would even disown him...

Varian starts to feel a lump forming in his stomach.

_...What if dad never gets to leave the amber? _

His breathing is picking up pace. He can hear blood circulating in his ears.

_...Can he even breathe inside of it?! _

Varian’s hyperventilating now. Everything’s ringing. Balancing is becoming harder by the second. All coming together for one revelation he’s never thought of until now.

_**...Has he murdered his ow — ** _

— _NO_ , don’t think about that, Varian. Literally anything else but that. You’re not ready to confront that possibility yet. Yeah, look at that flower pot in the corner, isn’t it cool with the cute, yellow color. It kind of reminds him of the amb-

_ NEXT THING, NEXT THING. _

In his haste of putting his attention on something else. His sky blue eyes eventually travel to the cold, steely grey ones of of the king. He’s looking at him with pure disdain, like an uninvited bug in his kitchen. 

The blood drains from his face. 

King Frederic opens his mouth to begin the introduction speech.

  
But before he can do so, the guard next to Varian, who he hadn’t noticed before, pushes him onto his knees and makes him bow before the king. The gloved hand almost crushing his head with the pressure that is being put on it.

It hurt...

_ It was humiliating... _

And nobody was doing anything about it. Not the audience, not the royals. They all seemed so blissfully unaware of his pain. Or they simply didn’t care.

Just like it has always been.

_ Why was he so dumb?  Why was he so dumb as to think anybody in this god forsaken place cared about his suffering .  _

The signs have always been there.

***

“Oh, is Varian too weak to help with the yearly harvest again? What a useless child.”

“Why isn’t he more like Quirin?”

“That child is too much like his mother. He’s even taken up her nick for witchcraft.”

“ Varian’s destroyed our village again. Why don’t you just kick him out, Quirin? It’ll be much less worrisome for us.”

***

Varian this, Varian that. There is always  something to blame him for.

He wishes he could just light that fire of fury and pure rage that kept him going under those months of endless research, research to save dad from his amber prison. He truly wishes he could.

But Varian just felt tired. And so exhausted. Like he wanted to rest for a really long time. Which makes no sense, because he’s barely moved around for weeks.

Without any warning whatsoever, a coughing fit overtakes him. It is the worst of its kind so far. There’s a burning in his lungs and he barely has any time to breath between the coughs. And the guards hand  STILL  pushing his head down doesn’t help in the slightest.

There’s an odd iron taste in his mouth, just like earlier that morning when he and his prison mates were having an insult war. (Which he has self proclaimed himself as the winner of.) 

When he moves his now ungloved hand to go wipe his mouth, he sees a streak of read covering the inside of his palm.

_ That is blood, that is blood on my hands. Is it my blood?  _ Are the thoughts that immediately come to his panicking mind. But he’s not given any time to process this newfound concern of his to the fullest, because King Frederic has now decided that this is a good time to start speaking.

“Now, you’ve waited long my humble subjects, but now we shall start the trial for Varian of Old Corona.”

_ Fuck _ , is the only intelligent thought he can think at that moment.

******

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...this was a really, really hard chapter to write.
> 
> For two reasons. 
> 
> 1\. I’ve never accidentally incased my father in amber before.
> 
> 2\. Varian is really hard to write for. Like, even in canon, he goes from sweet cinnamon roll, to sad cupcake, to chaotic, and then back to being a cinnamon roll again.
> 
> I just don’t know what to do???
> 
> Hopefully next chapter is uploaded tomorrow!


	4. Unhinged. Act 1

King Frederic has always prided himself in knowing what to expect from people and all kinds of different situations. 

And he was expected quite a few things from his wife’s kidnapper, who just happened to be the worst criminal Corona has ever seen since its early days.

The first thing that came to mind was that the sweet and compassionate boy that Rapunzel would sometimes ramble about would come through the door. But he quickly ruled that possibility out. 

He loves his daughter dearly, extremely so...

...But she can be a bit  _naive_ when it comes to choosing friends wisely. And he couldn’t help but be paranoid about who this Varian person was since the very beginning. What if he was putting her safety in danger?

Fortunately or unfortunately, (he still hasn’t decided yet) his fears has seem to have rung true. Varian was possibly one of the worst criminals he’s ever had the displeasure of encountering head on. 

Cunning, beyond a doubt...

Manipulative and observant to a fault...

But most of all, he cared about nothing but getting what he wants, no matter the cost.

...You couldn’t truly fault him for thinking Varian would come in here, acting the same way as in the battle of Old Corona. Blue eyes staring right into Frederic’s soul while he’s somehow managed to snatch Arianna away again, this time from right under his nose.

Consider him surprised when the person who walked through the door didn’t have even a resemblance to the one on that horrible day. 

Sure, they looked the same, but that was about it. The way he carried himself before was confident and surely, knowing fully well what he was doing-

-Where as now he carries himself like he’s lost and confused. Maybe even a bit scared. It truly looks like he was going to fall apart at any moment. Physically  and mentally.

The guard walking behind Varian suddenly comes to a stop. Moving their hand, they effectively force Varian into a deep bow. Knees on the ground and face forced to touch the red carpet. It looks painful...Frederic can almost allow himself to feel pity for the boy. He looks so harmless right now.

No...Frederic isn’t stupid. This is the same person who hurt his family, capable of the exact same things. How could he be certain this wasn’t just an act to make him look harmless?

If so, Frederic isn’t going to be fooled in the slightest. This mere child is stars away from ever being considered harmless. Even if he looks pale as a ghost...

He’s suddenly taken out of his own thoughts by the child suddenly coughing up a storm. 

  
The coughing goes on for an uncomfortably long time, making Frederic grab the arm of his throne in discomfort. it sounds like the boy can barely even breathe. It gives him a feeling he can’t quite understand. 

In his confusion, he desperately turns to Arianna for help. She’s always been the better at emotions of the two. 

Sadly, she seems to be as confused on what to do herself and just shrugs. A sign that they should wait with the trial until the coughing subsides.

Eventually, like all things do, it does. Strangely enough, Varian looks down at hispalm with an expression of surprise, shock and horror.

...

Frederic decides to ignore it, despite part of his brain saying he shouldn’t. That part is weak, not fit for the mind of a ruler. The trial should have started long ago and he could already see the tension building up within the audience.

Clearing his throat, Frederic begins to speak.

“Now, you’ve waited long my humble subjects, but now we shall start the trial for Varian of Old Corona.” He speaks loudly and clearly, his voice echoing throughout the ancient halls.

The people who looked like they were about to fall asleep immediately perk up at the king’s voice.

Nigel, once hearing the Sire speak immediately walks up in front of Frederic. The trial has started.

It doesn’t take long of Nigel to begin listing off all the accusations against the defendant.

“Varian of Old Corona, you are hereby accused of the following.

Destruction of property,

stealing,

animal cruelty,

attempted murder,

Kidnapping,

assault,

and high treason.” Taking a slight pause to breathe, Nigel continues.

“Do you have anything to say in your defense? Or do you plead guilty?” Nigel concludes. A cold and apathetic look on his face, completely vain of sympathy. 

Varian looks like he wants to say something. Mouth opening and closing like a goldfish. But nothing comes out of it.

”Don’t waste our time, child.”

Varian stays quiet, but Frederic can see his brows furrowing in frustration.The guard holding the child seems to be pressing hard down on his throat, it looks painful. A sadistic part of Frederic feels a smile curling on his face.

**Good.**

Varian is unable to speak...but it’s obvious he wants to do it.

King Frederic takes a deep sigh, turning his head towards the clock. It’s already 9am, and his subjects have more important things to do than to listen to a child giving useless testimony.

Having already made the decision, Frederic speaks up.

“It looks like you’re pleading guilty, going by your unwillingness to speak.” A lie, but a necessary one. 

Apparently not to his wife, who Frederic can feel is giving him a side eye and judging look, almost as if wondering if he’s serious. But she stays otherwise silent, not objecting to his decision.

He takes it as a sign to continue.

“Varian of Old Corona, son of Quirin. I hereby sentence you to lifetime in prison and a few months of community service for all of the property damage you’ve caused. You are hereby dismissed!” 

  
The words echo throughout the court for a short while, quieting even the youngest child down. All eyes are on the convict.   
The sight is one to behold.

  
Varian’s head is facing the carpet, his greasy black hair flowing down it and hiding the expression he’s wearing. He looks by all means calm...but there’s something off about him, a tension in his shoulders, one hard to miss. The type where you instinctively know something is wrong but you can’t pinpoint what.

The teen finally looks up at his king, and it chills Frederic to his very core. He’s smiling, almost sweetly in fact. But Varian’s mouth is drawn just a little too widely, his bloodshot eyes cold like the snowstorm on that day. It’s not a look of happiness, but one of rage boiling right under the surface.

This teen has an unhinged look Frederic’s only seen the worst serial killers hold. When they realize there’s nothing left to lose holding them back. Although Frederic knows the child can’t hurt him, he’s held down by a royal guard twice his size...Frederic almost feels the reflex to run, to hide, to defend. That the child will manage against all odds to break free and hunt him down.

  
Varian opens his mouth. For a few seconds, it looks like Varian is preparing to shout and scream. But seemingly stops and reconsiders, instead voicing something bone chilling to the court room in a loud and steady as steel voice...the guard pressing on his neck seemingly forgotten.

**_ “Your highness, first you ignore the black rocks completely. Indirectly making _you _the_ _reason my dad is stuck in amber. Then you imprison and starve me. And now you make me your slave.” _ **

Varian takes a second to let out a humorless chuckle. It’s a quiet sound, barely above a whisper. But in the almost paralyzed court room it feels like the most deafening sound in the world. The Alchemist’s ice blue eyes hyper focus into the king’s steely grey, almost as if picking apart is soul, finding every weakness. Varian’s eyes remind him of the black rocks and their lethality.

Frederic wants to crawl into his own skin.

**_ “How far are you willing to go before you make me  snap?” _ **

_** “How far are you willing to go before I decide to fucking kill you?” ** _

  
Goosebumps travel up Frederic’s skin at the sound of that child’s voice. Varian’s in a room of capable guards, more than the usual amount as a safety precaution. It’d be foolish to believe even a single word in that threat, killing the king is no easy feat, especially not for somebody in a condition such as Varian’s. It’d be frankly impossible. Frederic shouldn’t worry a second.  
  


Yet that sentence pierces through his very being like a dull blade, going through every organ and leaving him to bleed out. Going by Arianna’s flinch, she’s experiencing the same thing.

Varian just continues to grin at them sweetly, danger lurking behind his eyes like poison.   
  


Before the teen can say any more, Frederic orders the guards to take him to the dungeon with cold sweat, snapping them out of their trance. 

Varian doesn’t resist them, he simply allows them to drag him out. Polite smile still plastered on his face, aimed for Frederic and only Frederic.

  
The King feels Arianna grabs his hand in a subtle sign of worry, Frederic can’t get his body to respond, eyes on that massive port a now sentenced convict just got dragged out from.

A bead of sweat drips down his forehead.

That wasn’t a child, or even criminal speaking. 

...That was a monster.

******

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... there are some bad news.
> 
> Today, when I was at school, some bullies found my notebook where I put all my plans for the future chapters, and threw it in the toilet.
> 
> I hope it’s still salvageable, but please don’t be mad if the quality drops for the next few chapters.
> 
> I’m sorry for all the negativity.
> 
> Have a nice day.
> 
> -QuackyDucky


	5. Agreements. Act 1

Andrew knows a lot about Corona, _of course he does._ He is Saporian and it’s only common knowledge to know your enemy well.

So of course he’s kept up to date with the gossip around town, even if he happens to inhabit the lowest level of the prison.

And who in their right mind, prisoner or not, haven’t heard of the Alchemist getting his sentence today.

Everyone in the prison have betted their ration of food on what the punishment might be. Some have betted on a few years in prison. Others have betted on execution.

If Andrew was King Frederic, (which he’s sadly not) he would have chosen the latter in a heartbeat. But he’s in Corona right now. And they’re all to cowardly to execute a child for a crime.

In the country of Saporia, all who betray the crown are your enemy, and all enemies shall perish, no matter the age. 

Much better system in his humble opinion, makes people commit less crime too.

Andrew doesn’t see why Corona doesn’t follow his nations example. If he even as much as suggests the idea here, he’s immediately deemed as a freak by the people.

So to say he’s surprised when the Alchemist is brought down to the prison again would be a big, fat lie. 

  
  
It’s almost always what happens, it’s no fun anymore.

He is intrigued by the somewhat regular act, however. Especially in the way the young teenager is brought to the cells. Not crying or screaming or fighting like how it’s usually done.

No, it seems like the boy is quite the enigma in many ways, ‘cause he’s smiling and looks calm for the most part. Or as calm as you can be while being dragged away by two massive royal guards.

The metal clanks of the guards footsteps skids to a halt as they stop in front of the closest empty cell. It conveniently being the one right across from his own.

The first guard violently opens the cell door, while the second one unceremoniously throws the Alchemist onto the stone floor, making him land gracefully on his ass.

The guards quickly lock the door and leaves, just as fast as they came.

Andrew follows the teenager’s movements with his eyes. Maybe a little longer than what is socially acceptable, but thankfully the boy doesn’t seem to notice. 

Speaking of the boy, he hasn’t moved from his position yet. He’s still sitting there stiffly, ass on the floor and all. If Andrew didn’t know any better, he would have said the boy was dead. 

...Maybe he is.

Oh, well, he better find out, or his plans for the Alchemist will go up in flames.

Andrew whispers to the boy.

_ ****** _

“Pssst, hey. You alive in there?” Varian hears someone whisper. Maybe to someone in another cell perhaps? Many people are still asleep at this time. It being hard to follow schedule when you have no sunlight.

“Hey, you there kid?” The same voice whispers, this time with a hint of irritation.

Varian’s head whips up to look at the stranger. There was only one ‘kid’ at this level of the prison...and that was him. What a surprise.

The voice was coming from across his cell. It belonging to a man with a messy bun and unfairly handsome features.

“What do you want, Andrew?” Varian hisses. His rage from before still there, just not as prevalent. 

“Not much, really. I’m just a little intrigued by what you had to do to be literally dragged back here by two royal guards? What did you do to even get here at all?” Andrew answers, looking curious. 

He doesn’t want to answer, he really doesn’t. But he’s been bottling up his emotions for awhile now, and this is the first person in a while to kind off ask how he’s feeling, so he can’t help but speak. His voice is his gun, and he can’t stop firing it.

Andrew listens attentively while he’s rambling about everything on his mind. Through the recent guilt he’s been feeling, to the burning hatred he has for the royal family. He clearly doesn’t seem to mind that he’s over sharing.

When Varian’s ammo runs out and can’t speak anymore, 

Andrew picks up the conversation, the smug grin on his face turning wolfish.

“You know what Warren-“

“-It’s Varian.” He corrects.

“Yeah whatever. You don’t deserve any of this. You really don’t.

So why don’t you join me in my plan to escape? We Saporians would welcome you with open arms!”

“Really, you would do that?”

“Of course we would!” Andrew states confidently. “With your intelligence and my connections, we could get out of here in no time! What do you think?”

It is an easy choice. Like choosing between death or a slice of cake. 

“I’m in.”

“Excellent. A good choice. I knew I could count on you. But-“

“-But what!?” Varian lets out before he can think. He despises that word. ‘But’. It always means something bad.

“If you would have let me speak, I would have said that I trusted you. But the others don’t. At least not yet. They barely even know who you are at this point” 

Oh,  oh.  That makes sense. He wouldn’t trust a person he doesn’t know either.

Not anymore, at least. The old Varian might have. The naive, stupid, and trusting version of himself that he despises.

“What could I do to make them trust me?” He lets himself ask. A little afraid of what the answer could be.

“It isn’t something huge or anything. Just three simple rules to follow. 

Don’t reveal any information to the enemy. In this case, Corona.

Always help out fellow Saporians in need.

And the last one, also the most important to follow.

Don’t ever betray Saporia in any way. Traitors are punished with death.” 

“Those are some harsh rules.” He can’t help but state.

“Maybe they are.” Andrew agrees, checking his reflection in the bars. ”But if you follow them. My comrades will be sure to welcome you with open arms.”

“I promise you that..”

“You just have to promise me back.”

_ ——— _

_ Varian is suddenly back to that day again.  _

_ His dad has just lied straight to the kings face about the situation of the black rocks. Varian doesn’t understand why, why would he do that. Why can’t dad tell King Frederic about it? _

_ When he walks out the door, he tries to confront his dad about it, but gets denied before he can say a lot. _

_...It hurts, it hurts that dad doesn’t trust him with knowing the answer. It hurts that dad doesn’t seem to trust him with anything at all... _

_ Varian stands there for a bit, alone and heartbroken while his dad walks out of sight. Probably already on his way home. _

_ But then he sees Princess Rapunzel come through the door. Her beautiful golden hair flowing behind her. When she notices his hunched up form standing in the hallway, looking utterly out of place, she quickly walks over. _

_ “Varian, is everything okay?” She asks in concern. Hands moving up and down his back in a help to comfort.  _

_ Varian quickly moves away from her. Arms forming a self hug of sorts.. _

_ “No, no, it’s not.” His voice quivers. “Rapunzel. We came to see you about the rocks in Old Corona.”  _

_ She looks at him, a little mystified. “Yeah, but your dad said-“  _

_ “-My dad lied.” He interrupts before she can say anymore. _

_ “Things have gotten worse.”  _

_ “How much worse?” Rapunzel asks worriedly. _

_ Varian closes his eyes, immediately, images of the black rocks destroying houses, pathways, everything in their path pops up. _

_ “A-a lot worse...,” he manages to croak out. His throat getting constricted with the unshed tears forming in his eyes.  _

_ Rapunzel moves over to him and crouches in front of his small frame, hands going up to squeeze his shoulders in reassurance.  _

_ “Don’t worry Varian. I haven’t forgotten our agreement. We’re gonna figure out the mystery behind these black rocks, together.” She says determinedly.  _

_ “Just give me until my father returns.” _

_ “Everything is gonna be okay.” _

_ “I promise”. _

———

Varian forces himself not to flinch away from Andrew’s smug face. Forces himself not to react to his bad word choice.

“I’ll help you to the best of my abilities,” he says instead, subconsciously mirroring Andrews smile.

Varian’s never been one to make promises he can’t keep before.

He certainly won’t start now.

******

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update to the notebook dilemma. Over half of the info to the future chapters are sadly unsalvageable. But I’ll make due. 
> 
> I want to express my gratitude for all the kind comments and support I’ve been getting recently, it helps more than you can imagine!


	6. Mornings. Act 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so...This is the longest chapter I’ve done yet!  
> It is to honor the end of Tangled the series/Rapunzel’s tangled adventure.  
> How do you guys feel about the finale? How do you feel about it having finally ended after so long? Personally, I’m destroyed.
> 
> Any how, hope you enjoy the chapter!

Sleep has never been a thing that Varian has took comfort in. The opposite actually. The idea of going to sleep gives him feelings of anxiety. He never knew what would happen in them. The only thing he knew about them was that they were never kind, always showing him a mesh of memories he would rather not relive again...

Sometimes the nights weren’t too bad, even good at times. Those were the nights he didn’t dream at all. Or at least didn’t remember what the dreams were about.

...But the bad nights happened more often than not. Always showing him a cluster of nightmarish images at the same time...

...He always wakes up in a cold sweat at those. Heart racing and body shaking with the soft tears that couldn’t stop dripping down his hollow cheeks. 

...The ones about dad were always the worst ones...When has to notice his dads ever growing horror at the realization that the amber was slowly incasing him all over again...

Nightmares like them never lasts long, Varian being unable to bear them longer than a few hours. He can’t bear going back to sleep again after a bad night like that either...the fear of going back into the dream even keeping him far away from his cot.

For the past two days, however, something new has been happening to him that makes him uncomfortable with even the idea of resting his eyes.

He’s tired, oh so tired. But something in his subconscious has been telling him, that if he even rests for a few minutes, the sleep might become eternal.

...Permanent.

The thought of death has always scared him ever since he was a little kid. 

(Ever since mom just collapsed in front of him and never woke up again.

‘What if the same thing happened to him?’  Has been the thought haunting his mind ever since.)

But now, when he knows he’s been literally scratching on death’s door, it doesn’t scare him anymore. Why should it? Varian has never been stupid, the signs are all there for him, he’s gonna kick the bucket sooner rather than later. 

After all. When mom started coughing up blood, she didn’t last long now did she?

He almost welcomes the idea of death. What even is there left for him to live for? 

...Dad of course, he had remind himself. Dad who is forever stuck in amber because his son is too stupid to get him out of there. 

If Varian’s going to be honest with himself, which he usually is, he’s begun to lose hope that it’s even possible to free him. He’s checked it from all kinds of perspectives now, and it makes a painful amount of sense, if not even Rapunzel’s golden hair can break him out...then what can? 

Nothing, is what reality’s been slowly telling him with every failed experiment to get him out of there. The slap to the face being as cold as snow and ice. Just as cold as the snow and ice he trenched through to get to the castle and back, only to get refused help.

Varian moves from his position on the floor, walking the short way over to his cot and sits down. Knees going up to touch his greasy hair. His slender hand instinctively moves to pet Ruddiger’s soft fur, only to touch thin air.

...Right, they threw him out the day he got stuck here. Why does he keep forgetting that he isn’t with him anymore? Just like everyone he’s ever known...

Either dead or despising him at this point...the villagers are right, he only ever brings destruction wherever he goes.

The tears flush freely down Varian’s cheeks before he can notice them, the hiccups rattling his entire body. The feelings of loneliness overwhelming him.

Unbeknownst to the young boy, when the tears finally do stop coming, leaving stained cheeks and red face in their wake...

...Morning has arrived, the bright moon leaving its place in the sky for the incoming sun peeking over the horizon, leaving the sky in a beautiful array of reds and pinks.

Unbeknownst to Varian, he has survived to see yet another day arrive.

******

Queen Arianna wakes from her deep slumber to see yet another sunrise through her window. The sight leaving her with a happiness she can’t describe.

  
Still in her nightgown, Arianna quickly leaves her bed to go to the balcony, careful as not to wake the still sleeping Frederic, who always is so cranky at this hour.

She takes quiet, graceful steps towards the glass door, and when she’s there, she opens it and walks out onto the balcony. Taking in the view of the town center below her, Arianna can see the faint shapes of people getting ready for the day, and hear the innocent laughter of children on their way to school.

Personally, she can feel the soft and chilly spring winds rattling through her wild chestnut hair.

Morning has always been her favorite time of the day. There was always something so comforting to waking up to the sun’s first rays after a good night’s sleep.

Faintly, she can hear the door to her and her husband’s bedroom open.

Turning around, Arianna can see that it is her handmaiden, Friedborg holding her signature purple gown in her arms. 

Arianna quickly leaves the calm atmosphere of the balcony and walks back into her bedroom, letting Friedborg dress her in silence. It was time to start a new day.

Friedborg, seemingly reading her mind, hands her a scroll of all the queenly duties she has to do today. 

Rolling the scroll open and reading it, Arianna recognizes all the standard things that has to happen daily, but she also notices a new bullet point in the list. Conveniently placed at the top.

  * Watch over the Alchemist doing community service.



Right. Absolutely wonderful. That was going to be a daily occurrence now, wasn’t it? 

Watching over and making sure Varian does what he’s supposed to do...

...She can’t help but feel a shiver climb up her spine at the very thought.

It isn’t something she wants to admit to anyone, but that child scares her. Not only because he almost crushed her to death at the battle of Old Corona. (She still gets nightmares about that)

No, it was the way he looked at her husband as he threatened him (and potentially her) with death. The look in that child’s eyes was unhinged, one of someone who no longer has anything to lose.

...It was a look she only saw in experienced war veterans eyes nowadays. To have have that look at his age, she could only imagine what nightmarish things he had to have experienced. 

Not wanting to think about it any longer than necessary, she thanks Friedborg for her help and quickly leaves her bedroom, not before planting a big kiss Frederic’s forehead of course. Seeing the way his face scrunches up like cat’s makes her let out a little laugh.

When Arianna finally is outside, she moves her body to the fastest route to the lowest level of the dungeon, where she would collect one angry teenager for her first task.

She swallows the nervous lump in her throat as she makes her way towards the destination, ignoring the decreasing amounts of cheerful decorations instead being replaced by cold stone walls.

...Breath in, breath out. You’ve got this, Arianna.

  
The kingdom couldn’t care less about what she wanted or not, she only did what had to be done. That was what a great queen did.

Unlike Frederic, her kingdom’s priority always came first, even before her own family. Her husband was a good man and a good father, great even. 

But he wasn’t a good king. Prioritizing her and Rapunzel’s safety over the rest of Corona. 

In a way, Queen Arianna could see where Varian was coming from. They did ignore the problem of the black rocks, which tragically caused the destruction of many families homes. 

They also made their brave and strong daughter leave them again, after only being home for a year, just to find out a way to get rid of those damned rocks.

Rapunzel will become a better leader for Corona than both her and Frederic someday. Arianna just knows it. And she’s so proud of her-

Her happy thoughts are rudely caught of by her crashing straight into a wall. 

Oww. How didn’t she notice it was there? It’s a big stone wall right next to the entrance of the priso-

Oh right. That was her destination. Ignoring the concerned stares from the castle personnel, she swiftly takes small and careful steps down the spiral staircase, making her way through the dimly lit prison. The only source of light being the occasional lantern hanging on a wall.

When the prisoners see her, she immediately gets a few reactions. Mainly gaping mouths and snarls of aggression.

It didn’t really surprise her. She knows that she rarely goes to the prison cells at all, instead making messengers go in her place. It is mostly because this place of the castle gives her a really uncomfortable feeling she can’t describe.

The rotten smell down here wasn’t exactly pleasant either. 

Oh well, she could get used to it with due time. Now she only had to find the child.

In the corner of her eye, she catches a glance of the Stabbington brothers.

‘ _Maybe they can help me_ ’,  she thinks to herself.

When the brothers see her approaching them, they both look at her in confusion. She decides to ask the one in the sideburns. The other one seems to be nonverbal. 

“Hello there, do you happen to know where Varian is?” She asks in what she hopes is a friendly tone.

“The shrimp?” His rough voice replies. She nods in confirmation.

“He’s right over there, just go straight forward and turn left at that corridor.” He points to emphasize his words.

“Thanks for your help. It has truly saved me a lot of time.” She does a small bow and continues down the corridor, turning left at what she hopes is the right corridor.

Arianna almost misses it with the speed she’s power walking in, but there, in a far off cell sits a Varian shaped ball on a cot, completely still.

He doesn’t seem to see her walking towards him, so she coughs slightly to gain his attention. He raises his small head slightly, bruise like eye bags completely visible under his sky blue eyes.

The atmosphere immediately begins to turns awkward, and Arianna feels a little self conscious by his deadpan stare.

“Varian, I’ve ummm, came to collect you for your daily community services. I’ll be watching over your progress while you do it.” Arianna speaks a bit awkwardly, not used to doing this.

The teenager sighs in what seems to be irritation before standing up, looking utterly like a walking corpse. 

She calls over the closest guard to open the cell door, letting Varian out before closing it again.

Having no more words to say, Queen Arianna decides to leave the prisons, fully expecting Varian and the guard to follow her footsteps.

In her haste to leave however, she misses the exchanged smirks the man in the bun and the child with the blue streak in his hair share.

******

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: This chapter was actually inspired by my long lasting insomnia that sometimes makes me unable to sleep. Fun right? No? Okay then! 
> 
> I’m so happy for my alchemy boi, he finally got the happy ending he rightfully deserves! And Cassandra’s redemption was handled better than I thought!
> 
> It really is such a shame I love angst too much. :)


	7. Pages. Act 1

Crowley was the handmaiden selected to help the Alchemist on his first few days of community service, and oh boy does she regret it already. And it’s still only the first day.

Crowley is almost star struck by how bad at cleaning the brat is. 

He can’t even hold a broomstick the correct way, for god’s sake. Dropping it every few minutes due to not paying attention. 

Crowley has never been known for being kind _or_ patient, so those clumsy mistakes are immediately followed by a lengthy lecture, punctuated by a few bits of yelling.

You know, classic Crowley style. _But it doesn’t end there_. (Like it should do)

No, no. At first, the brat understands completely, sweeping away at bits and pieces of wall and ceiling left on the floor from his robot thingies attack.

(She thinks it’s called an automaton? Or something along those lines.)

But after only a few minutes, it’s like the kid just forgets what he’s just learned. Which leads to the annoying dropping of the broomstick.

How is it even possible for someone to be that bad at something so simple, you might ask. 

Well, Crowley’s _still_ figuring that out to no success. 

She could have almost swornthat she had seen him clean perfectly on the day of the science expo...but that might have been because he had had a few of his ‘ _inventions_ ’ to help him out with his endeavors.

Kids nowadays, don’t even know how to do simple cleaning anymore. While _she_ , practically in retiring age at this point, has to pull the big cart full of the castle’s clothes.

It’s truly remarkable, how unfair this is.

Crowley sees the brat once again drop his broom, probably for the fifth time that hour, the same dumb surprised look on his face whenever he does it. 

It’s infuriating. _And it gets on her nerves. **every. single.goddamn.time.**_

If the Queen hadn’t been there to watch over them both, she would slapped some sense into him already. 

Speaking of said queen, there is a figure rapidly approaching them from the distance, screaming her name multiple times in a stupid accent. The figure continues getting larger and larger, until the long nosed figure of the royal advisor can be seen.

_Of course_ it has to be Nigel, who else could it have possibly been?

“Queen Arianna! There’s an emergency!” He continues screaming, even though he’s right in front of them now. 

The queen, as calm as ever, puts a pinky finger over her mouth and the advisor immediately turns silent.

“What kind of emergency is it, Nigel?” She beckons him to answer, softly. 

“There has to be a change of schedule, your highness!  
A trading ship is moving towards Corona at a rapid pace this very moment! And King Frederic is supposed to handle the trades for the kingdom, but he’s in the middle of an important meeting between the seven kingdoms! You have to be there in his place!” Nigel rambles frantically, seemingly wanting to get it out of his mouth as quickly as humanly possible.

“ _Calm down_ , Nigel. Of course I can take my husbands place. I just wonder if Crowley will be able to handle our infamous prisoner alone.” Her green eyes glance towards her in what she hopes means “no offense”.

Crowley rolls her eyes before she takes a look at the Queen, then at the brat’s stick like arms, then at the shackles around his equally stick like feet, then up to to the guard keeping watch and finally back at the Queen with a deadpan stare.

“I think I can handle myself just fine, thank you.” Crowley states curtly, lips turning down into her signature frown.

Queen Arianna keeps giving her glances like she wants to argue, going by her suddenly frazzled state and the opening and closing of her mouth. But one look at the expression of distress on the royal advisor’s face makes her think otherwise and finally, finally leave.

It’s so annoying how people seem to undermine Crowley’s abilities, just because of her age.

Well, news flash, Crowley is sure as hell going to show that young lady that she can keep things in control by herself. 

She’s got this. Nothing can go wrong.

———

Apparently, she hasn’t got this down to a T as much as she wants to, because as soon as she thinks that thought, the little brat just happens to drop his broom right in front of her feet. 

It makes her stumble and let go of the big cart of clothing she was pulling, due to the shock. 

So now she can see it rolling by itself down the corridor at an alarming speed, about to slam into the new set of guard recruits patrolling by, helplessly unaware of the incoming danger.

Before she can even utter a ‘ _look out_ ’, disaster strikes. One of the recruits let out a girlish scream before the cart slams into them and the wall at full force, clothing flying right up into the air before gracelessly falling down again, a few iron boots hitting a pair of unfortunate recruits in the head, knocking them out instantly.

Crowley, notorious for being as cold as ice, can’t help but feel a bit guilty, and as a result goes to check them for any injuries. 

(She would have gone anyway, even if she wasn’t feeling guilty. She has a job to do and needs that cart to complete it. But that’s beside the point.)

They’re fresh meat to this whole royal guard thingie after all. To get that heavy cart slammed right into them on their first day is just the most horrible luck ever.

Surprisingly, the guard, who had stood stoic for most of the brats community work, also moves to help the recruits. Maybe he is friends with a few of them?

Well, it doesn’t matter to her anyway. All she has to do is focus to see if the recruits are okay.

And focus she does. In fact, she does it so well  that she forgets that the boy with the teal hair stripe is now completely alone due to both her and the guards change in position.

******

If Varian is going to be perfectly honest, he knows he’s had a very low chance of escaping since the very beginning.

So when Nigel comes and pleads for the Queen to come with him to some trading ships, there’s a whole package of new ideas springing lose in his head all at once 

Mainly about getting some useful supplies. He and Andrew had come to an ‘ _agreement_ ’ of sorts. Andrew would try to get his hands on something malleable, _preferably_ something made of metal, with the help of his various connections. 

So logically, Varian had to find something _flammable_ , while still being small enough to be unnoticeable. 

Such a shame that the corridor they were currently walking through was almost completely empty. Only the occasional bookcase lining the wall-

- _Wait a second_. Isn’t paper extremely flammable? _Oh, of course it is Varian, why are you even asking yourself something when you already know the answer._

Back on track, he has a _very_ short time limit to get the paper. They’re just about to leave the thin corridor and move onto the main hallways of the castle. Then it will be almost impossible to get supplies while staying unnoticed, due to all the people walking around.

It’s becoming clearer by the second, this has to be it, Varian might never get such a golden opportunity like this again, or at all if he’s being really pessimistic.

Varian has to act fast _now_ , and be subtle at that, so _no one_ will catch onto his little plan. Especially not someone as observant as Old Lady Crowley.

There is only one plan in his mind that could theoretically work. It is risky, _very risky_ in fact, but it would also be the most effective if it works out.

The idea is that he has to use the broomstick that he was ordered to sweep the floor with, somehow drop it before her feet, tripping her. Resulting in that big cart full of clothes rolling down the corridor at full speed.

Now, this is where the the tricky part comes in. Although Crowley cares more about her job more than _any_ living and breathing organism on earth, and would absolutely try to run after that rolling cart. The guard, Varian isn’t too sure would follow her example...

...The weight of his situation only just now starts to settle in. 

This could go _so wrong_ on so many levels. **If he fails at this, he might never get too see his dad’s face ever again, covered in amber or not...**

...

Well, they say it’s always better to try and fail miserably, instead of not trying at all!

(This supposed person also said putting children in jail was wrong, so yeah. Varian _absolutely_ trusts this mystery person’s judgement to a T.)

Holding the broom in the first place is quite a challenge, with his arms having atrophied so much due to that salty guard from Old Corona refusing to feed him at all, except for the bare minimum to keep him alive of course. 

So to say that angling the broom perfectly between the old lady’s legs would be a challenge, was the understatement of the century. But with a lot of patience and calculating, Varian eventually finds the best angle to drop it.

...So he lets the broom fall.

That moment, probably only a few seconds in reality, feels like an eternity as he sees the glorified stick fall in slow motion towards the ground. His breath gets caught in his throat as he sees it about to land right in front of Crowleys incoming step. 

To his surprise, she _actually_ trips...and lets go of the cart at that, making it roll backwards towards a group of unfortunate guards patrolling by. 

Oh, _those poor guys_. Varian doesn’t know how he was able to miss them, but the sight of the resulting chaos would have made him feel guilty if it wasn’t so cathartic. 

It was so cathartic in fact, that he almost misses the small figure of Crowley running towards the chaos...and the guard that was supposed to keep an eye on him, following right behind her, apparently. Probably wanting to see if his friends were alright.

‘ _Please don’t stop doing your job just because your friends were hurt, you could get fired that way_ ,’ was what he would have said if it wasn’t so utterly perfect for his plan.

Much more perfect than what his original plan was, in fact. 

...Varian’s actually surprised that he can do something that doesn’t end in complete failure or something exploding. 

Not that he _has_ any supplies to make anything close to being explosive, but that’s exactly the _point_ of this trip. Get supplies for the escape.

Varian dizzily moves on his feet in quick succession, wary of the sounds that the shackles around them might create. Eventually, he’s made it close enough to the bookcase that he can reach one of the books if he stretches his body _really_ long. 

He quickly grabs onto a book that seems relatively light compared to the others, it looks aged with it’s chipped red cover and yellowing pages.

The book nerd inside him is crying at the thought of ripping out pages of a work someone has taken a lot of thought into writing, but when Varian actually flips the book around too see the front cover, he sees what its title is.

_ “10 reasons why committing treason is bad.” _

Never mind, he now hates this book with a passion. Ripping a few pages out would probably do it a _big favor._

So that’s what Varian decides to do, he rips out about six pages and crumbles them up, inwardly cringing at the sounds the process emits. 

Varian distantly checks to see if anybody’s noticed him yet, but thankfully, that doesn’t seem to be the case. Everybody’s too busy with the cart to notice the _literal criminal_ they left completely alone.

He wants to laugh at the sheer stupidity of it all, but refrains from it.

Even though they’re still busy, they won’t be for much longer. And laughing at them would be an instant game over for him.

Taking note of the even shorter time limit than before, Varian swiftly closes the book and puts it back into the bookcase, exactly where he found it.

Tragically, this is when he notices his problem.

He has absolutely _nowhere_ to hide the papers. He can’t just walk around with them in his hand. That’d only be plain stupid.

But he doesn’t have any pockets on his clothes or a pair of shoes to hide them in either...

In the distance, he can hear the sound of footsteps coming closer and closer.

The distraction has run out of time, it seems. They will be able to see him in about a minute, going by how far the cart has rolled away and the speed that they’re walking back in right now.

They will undoubtedly notice the scraps of paper still placed in his hand.

_ (Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.) _

He’s really backed himself into a corner huh? How idiotic could he be to not see so far ahead.

Varian drags a hand through his bangs in panic, careful as to avoid the safety goggles sitting snuggly on his head. They were the only item he was ‘ _allowed_ ’ (more like begged) to keep from his own wardrobe. Everything else had to be taken away...

An idea as idiotic as himself suddenly strikes like a lightning bolt, completely taking him out of his spiraling thoughts. 

Varian swiftly takes his goggles off of his head, inspecting them for a few seconds... _And would you look at that_ , there is indeed a few centimeters of hollow space between his head and the safety glass. 

Quickly folding the crumpled pieces of paper for space, Varian hastily places them inside the goggles and carefully puts them back on again, speedily moving back to his original spot on floor. 

Almost in that exact same moment, Crowley and the guard come back into view. Thoroughly checking him for anything unnatural the moment they lay their hawk eyes on him.

_Act natural, Varian. Just act natural_.

“You look like you’ve just shit yourself.” it Is the first thing to come out of Crowley’s forever frowning mouth.

“Oh, thanks for the kind words. Welcome back to you too, Crowley.” Varian can’t stop himself from giving the snarky reply...

She rolls her eyes so far that he can almost _hear_ it, before pretending like she didn’t hear his words. Instead going right back to her task of pushing the cart with clothing to the washing room. 

Well, two can play that game. So he’s going to ignore her existence too!

It honestly doesn’t matter what decides to do now anyway. He has a goal, and half of the means to achieve i-

...Before Varian can even finish his thought, he accidentally drops the broom again from his lack of focus. Resulting in another screaming session from the hag.

That doesn’t matter either.

** Varian’s going to escape this hellhole tonight. Even if his body’s trying to give up on him. **

** _And that’s a promise._ **

******

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m so sorry for the later update than usual! I accidentally left my iPad on, so my mom could see what I was writing (which she did). 
> 
> She said the chapter sucked, so I felt so self conscious about it that I had to rewrite it from scratch. Yay.
> 
> So anyway, school has decided that It would like to kick my ass, so unfortunately, my updates will be every 1-2 days now instead of everyday.
> 
> Is that okay with you guys?


	8. Flames. Act 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the hiatus was shorter than I expected! The plot hole is *mostly* fixed, my notes are still a mess, but I was able to rehabilitate this chapter from it! It’s a little shorter than the original! But that’s because of, you know, the *plothole*
> 
> I won’t be able to update as often anymore, because of many factors that are to long to explain here. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter! Act 2 is coming closer and closer.

The bright moon is at its peak in the dark sky, surrounded by hundreds of teeny tiny stars. It’s midnight glow lighting up the kingdom of Corona in an eerie glow.

Nobody’s outside, and very few are still awake at this hour. 

But in the castle prison, deep, deep underground, there is a small but determined figure still awake. 

Sky blue eyes are fighting to stay open as Varian once again does a pace around his cell, trying to collect all of the small pebbles lying sporadically around cell. 

It’s a difficult task, as the handcuffs binding his hands together keep grinding against his skin, making it irritated and red. Not to mention restricting his movements. 

(He couldn’t wait to finally get those things of.)

He hears a guard approaching from the left, and in a hurry, Varian shuffles back and sits on his cot like he wasn’t planning to do anything, _especially not escape_.

Luckily, the guard doesn’t think he is planning anything of the sort, only glances inside his cell with a tired expression that could rival his own before continuing on his path. Most likely up on his way to bed about now. 

Varian waits until the guard is a decent distance away before continuing with his task.

He’s observed the royal guards schedules for some time now, and one obvious thing he’s noticed about it, is that there is a twenty minute gap around midnight, when the daytime guards are on their way to bed, and the nightshift ones haven’t arrived yet.

_ Otherwise called the perfect time for escape. _

Bending down low, Varian reaches his arm towards the last pebble, his hand grasping its cold surface before moving into a standing position again. The move leaving his head dizzy.

Shaking of the feelings of nausea, Varian quickly disposes the pebble into the small, pyramid shaped stack he’s been building up in the far corner of his cell, perfectly out of view. _All thanks to the cot covering it up._

The reason for why he’s so obsessed with picking up the nail sized rocks isn’t because he’s turning insane or something, (though, it _is_ debatable at this point in time) 

No, when Varian was still new to the world of alchemy, one of the first things he learned was that _rocks_ could work as a replacement for timber or coal as fuel for a fire. It wouldn’t last as long, of course, but you have to work with what you’ve got. 

Having nothing more to do, he spares a glance towards the cell across from him.

And lo and behold, the sharp eyes of Andrew of are staring right into his soul, seemingly having wanted to gather his attention for a while now, going by the older man’s annoyed expression instantly changing to a nicer one upon being noticed.

Varian has never liked Andrew all that much...Well, he hasn’t really interacted with him much either, he could totally be a nice guy for all he knows. 

But from the last few days that he’s been talking to him, Andrew’s only made him feel uncomfortable in his own skin. 

When he said “I promise”, Varian had gotten a horrible flashback to Rapunzel saying the exact same thing, who then went ahead and never fulfilled that promise... 

...Understandably, he no longer trusted Andrew after that encounter.

Not like he would have in the first place, that jerk just emits “Hey, don’t trust me!” energy for miles upon end.

Speaking of said jerk, the older man seems delighted to finally be noticed, mouthing some words to him.

Varian’s lip reading ability has never been all that good, but his dizziness muddling his sight, and the long distance between them makes it a lot harder to understand, but he manages to catch a few things from him.

‘...Y.u...done...I...g.t...my...ite...alr...’

Putting bits and pieces of the syllables together in the most logical manner, Varian can roughly translate it to “You done? I got my item already.” 

He subtly nods his head in a way so that only Andrew could catch it.

Suddenly, he sees something fly over from Andrew’s cell, all the way over to his own. Varian quickly catches it before it hits the floor. Curious, he checks what it is.

...A metal spoon. Absolutely perfect. With a little bit of heat, he could ram this bad boy right into the lock through the bars.

Varian doesn’t know what to do with the handcuffs though...Oh well, he could fix that later. Now, he only had to find a place to hide it.

His eyes scan the monotone environment for a bit, taking in the grey walls and the grey cot and the grey floor and the-

-You get the point.

In the end, Varian does find the perfect place for the spoon. In a small groove at the side of the wall, shadowed by the large form of his cot. 

Logically, you would notice it immediately if you knew what you were looking for. But Varian seriously doubts anyone would intentionally try to find a stray spoon laying around in his cell.

And if they did, then he would have to give them an applause for their creative thinking.

Back to his escape plan. How could he light a fire with almost no supplies?

His first idea is to use a concentrated beam of light that would be reflected from the spoon. And then onto the paper bits located in his goggles.. But sadly, even though it’s the most effective method by far, it has to be ruled out.

After all, how could you use a light source to your advantage when there is no light to be taken advantage of? Yeah, that’s right, you can’t.

So what could he use? Matches are not even close to being available, and there are no sticks in prison as far as he’s aware.

Infuriated, he throws one of pebbles to the ground in a fit of rage.

The pebble speedily connects to the floor and bounces up and down, the noise of rocks colliding echoing following behind it.

That little noise gives him a string of hope in his muddled mind. 

When Varian had infiltrated the castle to steal that useless flower once and for all, he had researched the castle layout to a T.

That included the dungeons, because as much as he didn’t want to admit it, he had long since prepared to be locked away in a cell like this.

Somewhere in his research, Varian had read that the prison had been built with quartz, a type of rock that was denser and sturdier than even normal boulders.

Consequently, any type of quartz is a rock that can spark fire if clashed with steel, preferably a high carbon steel. 

The bolts holding his goggles together are made of high carbon steel, sturdy and strong for all the experiments he does daily! (or more technically used to)

This was amazing! Varian would have jumped up high up in the air if he didn’t have an aching body that needed to preserve its strength. He would need it for all of the hours of walking he would be doing to Old Corona, after all.

With some effort, he sits down cross legged on the cold stone floor, chills climbing up his spine upon impact, and starts dismantling his goggles. 

First comes the paper, which he puts on the pyramid of rocks. It would act as his timber. Then comes the glass lenses, which he puts by his side, and after that comes the the leather headband. Varian continues like this, going piece by piece until both bolts finally plop out of the structure. 

There’s only two of them, but they weigh a decent amount for their size. They’re dark in color, and it looks like the steel is aging gracefully. He drags a finger across both hexagon shapes to try and find the one with the sharpest edge. When he’s found it, he then looks through his assortment of pebbles.

From what he could remember about the alchemy book he read years ago, the hand stone, the one you hold in your palm, (duh) should always be flat with a slight curvature. Acting as the place the striking steel will hit. He’s read that the shape makes creating a spark much easier.

So he looks through the pebbles at his disposal, finds the perfect one, and tries doing just that with limited success. Sparks fly, but nothing catches fire. 

Maybe the paper just doesn’t react well with the replacement fuel?

Well, rocks have never been considered the best option to get good results...

Oh well, for just a moment, Varian will pretend like he can’t understand common sense and try to light that stupid fire over and over again like a madman.

Eventually, with a lot of trial and error, he manages to succeed in his endeavors. The small and delicate flames gradually grow in size, until they’re as large as a lantern’s. Varian could watch it all day.

...Or he would have done so, if he didn’t have extremely few minutes to heat up the spoon before the smell of smoke overpowers the stink of unwashed prisoners, making the guards come over and find out what’s going on.

Effectively dooming him to a life in prison.

(Or, if you were to calculate it more accurately, a few days in prison at best. Him kicking the bucket before next week, probably.)

Anyway, he had to get that spoon now! Already knowing getting up would take up much energy from his already crippled state, Varian resorts to crawling on his stomach instead. It’s humiliating and probably a fascinating sight for the other prisoners, it certainly would be to him.

He can almost imagine it, seeing a child crawling on the prison floor in a snails pace.

Ignoring the curios glances his way, he, after some time, finally manages to grasp the spoon and crawl back to the sizzling fire, already letting out smoke.

Good lord, he only left it alone for a minute. Why does everything go wrong when he turns his back...

Desperate for time, he holds the spoon over the fire with a shaky hand, watching as the metal changes color from a silvery hue, to a molten red, and finally to hints of orange. 

Deeming the spoon hot enough, he quickly rises from his position with a pained grunt, putting out the fire in a haste, and jams it right into the doors lock.

  
The resounding ‘click’ is an amazing sound, so amazing in fact that he doesn’t even care that he never got off the handcuffs.   


  
Varian takes his first step outside the cell, barefoot and feeling every texture under his feet.

He’s a free man now.

The wave of satisfaction that hits him is almost overwhelming. Nearly drowning him in its euphoric feeling.

“Hey, nice job there, kid! Can you get me out now?” Comes Andrew’s quiet hiss. 

Varian’s amazing mood is immediately pummeled by his voice.

Oh right, he had to deal with this asshole now.

_Damn it._

******

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick question: How do you add pictures into ao3?


	9. Comparisons. Act 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> QuackDucky updating? More likely than it seems. Hope you enjoy the chapter! <3

“Hey, nice job there, kid! Can you get me out now?” Varian hears Andrew hiss, his voice grating like nails on a chalkboard. He might have said more after the initial few sentences, but Varian doesn’t bother listening to it.

_It’s not important_. He should just try to leave this place as soon as possible.

But his mind is a curious one, so he cannot help but turn towards Andrew’s cell casually, taking in the older mans ragged appearance. 

The bun Andrew always takes so much pride in is greasy and messy, white flakes of dandruff visible inside it.

Quite disgusting, actually.

Andrew’s already pale skin looks grey tinted in the hallway’s dim and dark lighting. Those dark eyes of his are bloodshot and wide as his mouth continues letting out uninteresting gibberish.

He’s almost in the exact same state as him, Varian cannot help but ponder. It’s quite amusing if you think about it.

Crippled, disgusting, atrophied, tired- there’s many words to describe the man.

His personal favorite is weak. 

Just like Varian himself, just not to the same extent. It’s funny, how _he,_ the weaker of the two, _at least physically_ , is the free man right now.

It is _he_ who’s out of imprisonment now.

“Come on, hurry up, you little bitch! There isn’t much time left until the guards arrive!”

Andrew’s correct, _there isn’t much time left_...He could be using this precious time to flee.

Yes, _that’s_ what he should do...flee. It’s the _only_ thought that makes an ounce of sense in his brain, muddled and confused by sickness.

So in an act of self perseverance, that’s what he decides to do.

Varian begins stumbling through the hallway as he nears the spiral staircase. His body aches in agony at every step he takes, seemingly wanting to give up on him halfway through. 

Varian bites the inside of his cheek in an attempt to endure it. But it’s a halfhearted attempt at best.

_ You will make it Old Corona, Varian. You can’t give up now. _

_ You will see dads face again. _

_ Even if it’s the last thing that you’ll ever do. _

That mantra is the only barrier keeping him from doubling over in pain and giving up at this point.

(Though, some part of Varian thinks that even the _mantra_ might be impossible for him to achieve, at this point)

******

Andrew watches on with simmering fury as Varian once again ignores his call. Rattling the bars, the sudden movements making the handcuffs dig into his skin, he over and over again. Yet the same result occurs.

“Hey!” Nothing.

“Varian!” Nothing happens.

“Don’t ditch me here!” _Once again_ , nothing happens.

“You son of a bitch! Come back here this instant!” Andrew’s half-shouting now, still, _nothing_.

Absolutely nothing seems to _work_ on the guy. He’s just merrily waltzing of to freedom, not showing a care in the world...

Okay, that’s a lie. Varian looks like a drunk saporian on a Saturday evening about to pass out at any moment, with the way he’s stumbling around. 

...Could it even _exist_ something able to catch his attention?

......

......

......

A sudden and absolutely _genius_ idea strikes his mind and refuses to leave. There sure is one way to get Varian’s attention. It might be the most assholish thing he can do, but in that moment, Andrew can’t _help_ but shout it out, not caring if the guards would hear him.

“Didn’t you _promise_ you would help me, _Varian?!_ Help Saporia?!”

The resulting reaction is instantaneous. Varian flinches violently, before standing completely still, paralyzed like a statue. The only movement being his harsh trembling- _just_ like the last time he used that word.

Ha, what a weakling. _One_ word, just _one_ word, and he’s instantly shaking like a leaf. 

Just as he’s thinking that, Varian decides to spin on his heel, teal streaked hair smacking him right in the face. It would have been hilarious if it wasn’t so sudden and terrifying. 

The teen’s previous dizziness is forgotten, his blue eyes now laser focused into his own. The calm-yet furious expression thrown his way might be the most alive that Andrew’s ever seen him be, during his time here.

Teeth bared into a wild snarl, Varian croaks out the next few sentences in a hauntingly polite voice. Words quiet, you might now have heard them on a normal day.   


But in the cold and dark prison, a little after midnight, the words might as well be deafening.

“Ah, I am so, _so_ sorry, _Andrew_. I think you misunderstood my words.” He starts, eyes flashing dangerously as he talks. Expression gradually changing from an outright furious one, to a wide grin, where you could see the rage simmering right under the surface.

_** “You see, I didn’t promise you or your country jack shit.”  ** _

Andrew’s so cell chocked by Varian’s words and sinister smile, almost reaching all the way to his ears, that he doesn’t notice said person start moving towards the staircase again...

The wicked grin which Varian had just plastered on his face...there had been something so horrifically wrong with it. But pinpointing exactly what was so uncanny with it left his brain at a dead end-

** “Hey! What’s with all the commotion going on down here!?” ** Two guards suddenly appear out of nowhere and scream in perfect unison, consequently making Andrew let out a less than manly screech and fall right on his ass. 

They miraculously don’t pay any mind to his predicament, instead favoring the wide open cell across from him. Which is-you know- _fair_.

“Layton, can you remember who’s cell this is?!” A large guard with low voice screams at his skinny colleague, apparently named Layton.

“Yeah, How can I not?! That’s the Alchemist’s!” Layton screams back to his partner. “He’s escaped, Alfred!” He quickly adds, after taking one look at the bent spoon in the lock. 

Andrew expects them to do something productive after all that screaming, _like try to run after Varian or something_. But nooo, they just stand around like panicked chickens.

Rising up from the floor in one smooth motion, fixing his hair with difficulty, (damn those handcuffs for making everything difficult) Andrew decides to lend them a hand.

“He went that way!” He tris pointing his finger towards the staircase to accentuate his words. But his arms are stuck together due to the handcuffs, so it only makes him look stupider than he already was.

... _Great, fantastic, absolutely wonderful, things couldn’t be better._

Alfred and Layton pretend not to notice his struggling, as to not make things awkward. Instead, they do something much worse...They give him, _a literal criminal to Corona mind you_ , a _salute_ before quickly following his directions.

...In some cases, stupidity seems to have no limits...But still, it surprises him to what extent it can go...everyday. Andrew would seriously facepalm if the handcuffs weren’t in the way.

In any case, that brat is going down tonight. No traitors of Saporia shall feel the _luxury_ of being alive, let alone be able to walk _freely_.

Varian might not have realized it himself yet, but he’s already lost the game. 

If not, he certainly will, very, _very_ soon.

******

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is also quite short. But don’t worry! This was supposed to be one big chapter, but I wanted suspense, so it’s two now. 
> 
> Act 2 is very close now. I will say no more. :)


	10. Windows. Act 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end is near. :) Hope you enjoy the chapter! <3

_‘Sometimes, you never understand how inconvenient something is until it’s too late,’_ someone wise once said.

Well, the wise guy’s quote seems to ring true even today. Because Varian’s _never_ questioned why the castle had to be so _massive_ until today, when he’s running through the nonsensical corridors while every step he takes feels like he’s dying inside.

_Not trying to be dramatic or anything_.

But for real, why does a glorified living space _need_ to have so many rooms. Knowing which way to go is probably hard on a normal day in this place. Not to mention _when you’re chased by people who want to put you back behind bars that you don’t want to be behind, and your legs feel like twigs while you’re at it_ -

-A burly and extremely buff guard tragically manages to catch sight of him sneaking around, and goes for the grabs immediately, running extremely fast for his size too.

Ah, _shit._ This is bad. This is really, _really_ bad. 

_‘Do something Varian’_ ,  his brain screams at him. Panicked, his eyes scans the environment for distractions. 

The burly guard is coming closer by the second. 

Brain and common sense shut off, he tries grabbing something something close him and throw it. But it’s a laughable attempt at best with the handcuffs making everything more difficult than it has to be. 

Purely improvising by now, Varian uses his body to push down the nearest item-a flowerpot, apparently-and kicks it towards the guy.

The flowerpot (miraculously) manages to connect with the unfortunate guard’s face in a satisfying arch. It breaking upon impact and caking the mans face in dirt.

_Haha, sucker_.

While the man tries coughing up the disgusting dirt he got in his mouth, Varian takes that time to flee from the scene.

Running on arrogance, adrenaline and pure spite, Varian barely feels the pain in his limbs as he sprints towards the closest exit. 

‘ _This was way easier than I expected,’_ he thinks to himself...

In hindsight, he _probably_ shouldn’t have said that. Because just as he’s about to turn the corner towards the port, he sees a lanky guard with a reptile looking face already guarding it. 

Varian is humble enough to admit that even though the man looks like a _twig_ , he himself was even more of a _twig._

Sooo, beating the guy up would be near impossible...And running towards the next and closest exit is too high of a risk at this point...Too many guards running about.

Thinking back to his _beloved_ Flynnigan Rider series, he tries to channel his inner thief and come up with a solution.

_‘Hide and leave in the morning_ ’ is an option, albeit a _risky_ one. During the morning hours, most people are awake. That’s also the time when most people are walking through the hallways...hiding somewhere and not being found at all seems like a pipe dream at best, pure idiocy at worst.

_‘Jump through a window_ ’ is also an idea. But certainly not the most ideal. The jump could kill him if he’s unlucky...Only an idiot would attempt i-

“-Stop and surrender peacefully! Nobody will hurt you if you do!” Someone screams at just that moment.

The distraction seemed to not have lasted all that long, because when Varian cranes his neck backwards to look who’s speaking, he sees the burly guard standing there- obviously _pissed off_. To worsen his odds even more- _because the universe apparently hates him_ \- he’s got some backup from his guard friends too now.

_Wonderful_. The window idea actually seems like the best option now. 

_‘Why don’t you jump through one, then?_ ’ His brain asks him.

_‘Getting to that part in a moment!’_ He replies back to it.

Just as the guards begin chasing him, Varian starts full on sprinting through the hallways, trying to find the best window to jump through. 

Then, like a beacon of light, he finds it. The _perfect_ window, placed right at a dead end of the hallway. Speeding up even more, almost like a moth to a flame, he prepares for the big jump. 

For a moment, he thinks he can see his own expression in the large and beautiful glass panes, not a smudge or crack in sight.

_It truly is too bad the window has to be broken_.

Varian closes his eyes _just_ in time before the glass breaks into thousands of little pieces, some of the small shards slicing his skin open at the collision.

He opens them again as he’s falling, having to squint to see anything in the wind...

And oh boy, is he higher up than he expected, around two stories high. The wind is pulling his hair backwards as he falls, the grass bellow coming closer and closer at an alarming speed, Varian feels a speck of fear circulate inside him. 

_‘Fear of what, exactly?’_ He might never know. But he closes his eyes in anticipation anyway.  


He doesn’t want to see what’s going to happen.

...

...

...

Varian lands on his back like a downed bird, handcuffed arms hitting the ground first with a loud ‘ _thump_ ’.

At first he just lays there, feeling the grass below him tickle his nape like he’d been lying there for a while, not almost fallen to his demise. 

Surprisingly, nothing hurts. Everything around him is deathly still and silent, almost like all the world’s sounds have stopped all at once.

_...It’s peaceful, like a nice dream_.

Then the pain comes. It flares up like a wildfire piercing his flesh, burning everything in its path. The bones in his arms snap in two, and Varian has to bite his own tongue as to not scream out in absolute anguish.

His vision blurs with tears as he looks up at the dark night sky, white stars barely visible in the drowning shades of black and blue. He can make out the vague shapes of guards looking at him through the now smashed window. They’re speaking to each other, it seems.

Going through his pain ridden mind, Varian tries to remember _why_ he jumped through the window in the first place.

...

Dad’s petrified, forever frozen face suddenly appears in his memory like some kind of jumpscare. At the sight of it, he _instantly_ wishes he couldn’t remember it at all. But that’s exactly the point of this, isn’t it?...

...He can never truly forget that nightmarish day until he fixes his- _Rapunzel’s_ mistake, he has to remember it’s _Rapunzel’s_ fault, not his...

...Right?

Biting his cheek to avoid shrieking in distress, Varian tries to stand up and get a move on. In his clumsy attempt, he accidentally puts pressure on his broken bones.

Grinding his teeth, he suppress the urge to cry, scream, swear, whatever might come through his mouth at this moment.

Varian doesn’t deserve to express his hurt...a few broken bones are _nothing_ compared to what his father has gone through, is _still_ going through while Varian _**lazes around and does nothing-**_

His legs wobble unsteadily as he rises to his feet. When he’s finally made it up, he feels utterly unbalanced. There’s also an strong urge to vomit.

_‘You don’t have the time for that_ ’, his brain helpfully reminds him. As usual, it’s correct. There’s only a matter of time until the guards follow him outside. If he wants to make it home, he has to start moving _now_.

Kickstarting his legs into working through the sheer power of spite, Varian’s on the run yet again. 

With every agonizing step he takes, the image of his dad’s petrified face continues tormenting the forefront of his mind. It’s what keeps him going. It’s the only thing that’s kept him going for a while now.

Even when he’s starving and unable to sleep, even when his legs feel like heavy lead, and even when his arms are useless and broken.

So Varian keeps on going, and will keep on going until he’s made it all the way over the capital’s bridge. Pain be damned.

** If he stops running now, he’s afraid he’ll never be able to run again. **

******

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: The whole window sequence (the whole chapter basically lol) is a direct parallel to something that’s actually happened to me in real life. :0
> 
> Me and my (old) friends played tag indoors once, and I really, really wanted to win. So when I got cornered and the door wasn’t available, I just jumped out the window. 
> 
> A suggestion to people reading this, don’t follow my example, I’m an idiot that shouldn’t be trusted with anything dangerous.


	11. Home. Act 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, we’re really close to act 2 now. As a fun game, please rate my evilness on a 1/10 scale so far. :)

Panting heavily, feeling his heart heart pump wildly inside his chest , Varian _just_ about manages to make it all the way over the capital’s bridge before he needs a break. 

  
The fact that he has to take one _at all_ makes him feel incredibly ashamed. But Varian knows that he might collapse of exhaustion otherwise. 

Wary to not let anything touch his arms in _any way_ , Varian settles down against a massive oak tree placed a bit off the road, his small frame hidden against the lush bushes and leaves. 

The bark is wet and cold against his shirt, making it cling uncomfortably against his skin. Dry lips curl in distaste as small water droplets hit the autumn leaves around him, creating the pitter patter sound of rain. 

Varian cranes his neck upwards towards the black night sky. If he squints a bit, he’s able to notice the big and dark clouds sailing by through the oak’s likewise large and dark branches. 

_‘It will start pouring a lot more in a little bit.’_ Varian concludes simply. He has to get a move on soon, or the mud a bit down the road might be too slippery to walk across. 

But for now, he takes this small moment to relax. It’s not comfortable in the slightest, with his arms spasming painfully and his legs cramping up, the damp undergrowth also making the autumn air chillier than it has any right to be. 

To be blunt, it is _awful_. Although, every nook and cranny of this oak is a _hundred_ times better than that ghastly cell.

If he closes his eyes, he can almost imagine himself being in that place again. _The rotten smell too horrible to forget, the dim lanterns that sometimes went out-covering him and the other prisoners in a cloak of darkness. Even the smooth steel of the bars-_

He’s thankfully taken out of his not so tasteful memories by a blackbird singing a little melody somewhere in the trees. Not too long after that, he hears another little blackbird respond from a different tree.

If Varian really tries straining his ears and listen, he can even hear a mouse squeaking softly. 

Varian cannot help but _smile_ at the adorable sounds. 

There are so _many_ creatures thriving in this very forest, all living together in harmony, despite being so _different_ from each other. (Unlike humankind)

They all lurk in the shadows. Varian can hear them, but not see them. Most seem too scared to come out of hiding-

The birdsong suddenly stops all at once, _instantly_ making Varian cautious.

It’s the sounds of footsteps approaching... _’maybe it’s a hunter?’_ No, there’s too many of them to be a group of hunters, around eight of them. They’re fast and loud, like beats on a drum...In a moment of clarity, Varian figures out that it’s the guards searching for him.

In a rush of panic, Varian does the smart decision to duck as close to the ground as he possibly can, following the forest inhabitants example.

The tension is high as the guards echoing footsteps get increasingly louder with every step. Varian even stops breathing when he sees their dark silhouettes shifting on the bark of the oak he’s hiding behind. 

_‘They wouldn’t able to distinguish him all the way from the road, would they?’_

_’He sure hopes not.’_

Luckily, Varian seems to have panicked over nothing at all, because the guards just continue marching stiffly towards the ruins of Old Corona, without even sparing as much as a _glance_ towards either side of the road.

He’s almost _offended_ by their lack of searching. Which doesn’t make any sense. Shouldn’t he be _relieved_ that they didn’t find him? _Brains sure work strangely._

But for real, do they honestly think he- Varian- _otherwise known as public enemy number 1_ \- wouldn’t even be _trying_ to hide somewhere. Do they just expect to catch him walking right out in the open, screaming “ _hey there guards, I’ve escaped. Come and catch me!”_

No wonder it was so damn easy to infiltrate that castle. They hire pure idiots.

Back to said pure idiots, Varian peeks his head out from behind the tree to see if they’re still in his line of sight. Looking back and forth multiple times, he eventually deems the coast clear and tries standing up. 

Getting your footing right on an uneven terrain is quite the challenge. Especially if your arms feel like maracas having a painful seizure at every moment.

But _somehow, in some way_ , he manages to get on his two feet without _too_ much trouble.

Huh...maybe it is the adrenaline working its magi- _science_. Adrenaline isn’t magic, _Varian_. You’re an alchemist, not a _wizard_. You should know that by now-

Not deeming this as the right time to have an internal debate with himself, Varian tries focusing on getting back up on the road. 

The second he tries hiking up the sharp slope, wet mud makes him slip around like an eel. At one point even making him grab onto the grassy ledge with his handcuffed hands on reflex.

As you would expect from that decision, the outcome is both arms recoiling like they’ve been electrocuted, making him cry out in intense pain.

Now having lost his source of balance, he gracelessly tumbles down the slope like a roadkill, covering his already dirty clothes with wet mud along the way. 

_Amazing._ This bad day is just turning even _worse_ with every minute he’s living it. 

Oh well, guess he’ll just try over and over again until it works. Like changing the formula until you get the reaction you want in an experiment.

Eventually, with a lot, _and he means lots and lots of trial and error_ , he accomplishes getting over the (small) slope and get back up on the main road. A pang of pride hits his frame in a flash, making him smirk at no one in particular.

Weirdly enough, nothing hurts as he walks, not even his broken bones. Compared to the agonizing spasming and the times the edges of his bones were piercing his flesh at uneven intervals, what he’s feeling now doesn’t even match _half_ of that intensity. If it wasn’t for the consistent tingling in his arms, Varian would think the window experience was some weird fever dream. 

(It’s almost like his body recognizes this is a one way journey, and doesn’t even bother putting him through more torment.)

If someone who didn’t somehow recognize him walked past, to them, he would probably just look like any other teen his age passing through the rain. _Although_ , a really dirty one. 

And it _is_ pretty suspicious walking around the forest at 1am, no matter the person.

You know what? Scratch that. He seems suspicious no matter what he does. Why is he even trying anymore?

While Varian’s zoning out, he almost bypasses the clearing where the diverging path to Old Corona lies. Quickly focusing back to the task at hand, he powerwalks back onto the right path, like he didn’t just walk past it.

In the small clearing, the tall and looming trees separate just enough to see the clear night sky. The large harvest moon can be seen hanging low from the horizon, its beautiful yellowish hue letting faint beams of moonlight that hit the tall treetops, highlighting the dark path for him like a guide of sorts. 

A chilly autumn breeze sweeps past Varian as he continues on his journey back home, back to where he belongs.

The thought almost makes him feel giddy, and _wow_ does he miss that emotion.

Bitterness and resentment are good motivators, yes, but they don’t hold a candle to the endless pool of _energy_ that is giddiness.

Eventually, the little trail comes to an end, making way for the flat and open terrain that used to be Old Corona. The sight of its rundown state immediately sours his mood.

Taking it all in stride, the first thing his brain singles out are the countless acres going across the village. They were flourishing with crops and greenery just a few months ago, but have now been abandoned and left to die.

There doesn’t seem to exist a single speck of life running around either. Except maybe the guards that were chasing him not too long ago.

But they probably left when they couldn’t find him anywhere. 

Houses and barns have huge holes left in them from the cluster black rocks. Mrs Stacy, the old baker, even had the unfortunate luck to have her house turnt over completely. 

Then, it finally catches his eye, the house that’s been the most damaged of them all. It’s quite big, supposedly made from durable brick walls and wooden beams. Yet there exists a big hole in its structure, ashes spilling out of it and old automaton parts lying around the building, creating a looming atmosphere.

...He knows this house very well, it’s the place he was born in, after all...

******

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter spoiler: Dad?


	12. Changes. Act 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick heads up before you read the chapters. 
> 
> For you who have commented, given kudos, even read this piece of trash. I’m so thankful for your lovely support!   
> I would have never made it this far without you guys! <3

The bright harvest moon hangs low over Old Corona’s desolate farmlands, where not even grass wants to grow anymore. Everything is colored in a monotonous grey, completely void of life.

Despite all of that, a boy can be seen wandering through the abandoned ghost town, looking completely out of place with his peaceful smile and sheet white skin, borderlining on blueish in the faint moonlight.

Steps echo throughout the whole village as Varian takes it all in. Seeing his home again gives him such a bittersweet feeling. On one hand, he feels a strong sense of nostalgia after not having seen it in so long. 

_ But on the other hand, seeing the state that Old Corona is in also gives him this emptiness that he can’t really explain.  _

Varian had of course seen his village crumble before his very eyes, and that had hurt in unimaginable ways, but it had all been so gradual that he’d barely taken notice of how _bad_ it actually was.

Only now, when he’s taken a step back and taken a look at it with fresh eyes, can he truly see to what extent the damages really are.

When he’d stood at the edge of village, only peering in through a distance, he’d of course seen Mrs Stacy’s turnt over house. But now, when he’s up close, Varian can see that it isn’t the only house that is in a desperate need of repairs. 

In truth, every single one of the houses need it desperately.

Roofs that are caved in at random places, walls that need new insulation, vines that are hungrily climbing up at every place imaginable- he can just ramble on.

_...Some even have automaton parts stuck in their structure... _

His feet suddenly come to a stop, as Varian is now standing in front of the entrance to his own house. Wide eyed, he just stands there paralyzed, looking at it.

‘ _The door is gone’,_ he remarks in awe, because really, it’s the most remarkable thing there. Not destroyed, not even kicked down, just _gone_. 

Huh, that makes the problem of opening the door much easier.

Going up the tiny stairs, Varian walks through the doorframe and moves inside the house. The first thing that comes apparent is the lack of furniture around. The hallway seems to have been raided of supplies in his absence...

Moving to check the kitchen, he sees that the door is gone there too, and to all of the other rooms for that matter

(What is with these people and doors?) 

Walking inside, his assumptions seems to have been correct, because everything is gone there too. Even the smallest things,  **_ like the disgusting jars of pickled pumpkin that dad always keeps in the pantry, despite nobody but him wanting to eat the stuff- _ **

_Dad_....He almost forgot about him. 

Being inside the house immediately starts to make him feel claustrophobic, the reminder of his- _Rapunzel’s_ greatest mistake being just down the hall makes his blood run colder than ice. 

Breath hitching and heart thumping, Varian makes his way out of the kitchen and towards the lab, body practically moving on its own down the dark hallway, knowing exactly which way to go after having done it for so many years. The aged floorboards creak under his feet as he steps on them, the sounds traveling loud and clear in the otherwise silent hallway.

Eventually, Varian does arrive at the lab, the place he’s spent most of his life working on experiment after experiment, failure upon failure.

And at the center of the room stands the biggest failure of his life. His dad encased in a seemingly unbreakable amber...face permanently stuck with a pain stricken expression. 

...

In a long overdue realization, _everything_ becomes clear.

...It was he who created the amber. It was he who messed up so badly, it’s always him that messes up so badly-

- _ **This was all his fault.**_

Knees no longer being able to hold his weight, Varian drops down in front of his father, sky blue eyes glossing over with the tears running freely down his face.

Looking small as bug, Varian tries to meet dad’s eyes, but finds himself unable to do so due to the shame and guilt crushing him, forcing him to keep his head down. 

Varian stares down at the feet of the amber, sees the unbreakable substance curl like thorns on the floor, the yellow coloring flashing cruelly towards him. The sight makes him sob harder, leaving an urge to spill everything on his mind in one big swoop.

“H-Hi dad, there’s b-been a long t-time since y-you’ve seen me, hasn’t I-it.” Varian begins mournfully, stuttering through the whole sentence. 

“Y-you’re probably r-really disappointed in m-me right now.” He quivers. The tall amber is towering over his small frame, silent but practically radiating judgement. 

“N-Not that I would b-blame you. I-if I were you, I-I would have disowned me long time a-ago.” 

Looking upwards is a little easier with every word he lets out, until he’s finally able meet his father’s closed eyes head on. Words come flooding out of his mouth, already having been said so many times in his subconscious.

** “I’m s-sorry for being such a bad s-son.”  **

** “I’m s-sorry for being such a horrible p-person-” **

Varian’s voice constricts by the burning lump in his throat before he can say anything else, leaving him coughing up a storm, drops of crimson blood spilling onto the floor. 

At this point, Varian isn’t even surprised by it, not even _slightly_ freaked out.

He’s just exhausted, and so, _so_ tired...Guess that’s what happens to you when you don’t sleep...

...A quiet chuckle leaves him at the thought, sounding more like an out of breath wheeze than something humorous.

Varian curls up close against the large amber, wanting to be as close to his father as possible, while not having anything disturb his now numb arms. Which he- even in a dazed state-notices have turnt a blueish hue at the fingertips.

Huh, when did that happen? 

Never mind, Varian’s too tired too think, _too tired to do anything_ , really...

What if he took a little nap, just a few minutes at most. Then he could get to work on yet another formula able to break the amber... 

_...Maybe it will work this time_.

Tired eyes close peacefully, the little boy falling into a deep, _deep_ slumber. 

******

Pete and his colleagues burst into the house yet again in the morning, having gotten a big scolding and new orders from the furious King Frederic, for not having searched for the boy well enough. 

Being screamed at is _definitely_ not Pete’s favorite pastime, but it happens so often that it might as well be. 

Trudging through the wet and muddy trail to Old Corona yet again, he and the other guards march through the desolate village to Varian’s house once again. 

Pete has only been to Old Corona a few times in his life, personally having no connections to the place. But from the few times that he’d visited, it seemed like a lovely place, really close knit and small. 

Seeing it now is absolutely jarring, the place abandoned and practically a ghost town at this point, the buildings looking more like ruins than houses...

Speaking of houses, despite only having seen it twice before, Pete instantly sees what house is Varian’s. It being the biggest and most destroyed, holes in every place imaginable.

If Pete had to describe it in just a few words, it would be melancholy and somber, the horrific things that happened in the place looming from far away.

He ignores the voice in his head screaming at him to run away as far as he can. Cowardice has never belonged in the royal guard, and it never will, so he steadfastly walksthrough the empty doorframe and into the likewise empty house.

If Pete thought that the town was spooky, then being in here is even more so. It feels like wandering through a haunted house as he moves toward the boy’s lab. 

He really didn’t know what to expect to see in the chilly room, but finding the boy he was searching for- curled up into a little ball on the floor- _definitely_ wasn’t it. 

On reflex, Pete and a few of the guards move in for an arrest, only to flinch back upon touching Varian’s ice cold skin. 

Fearing the worst case scenario, Pete tries it again, now putting two fingers on the teenagers neck. He waits patiently for a steady pulse, or at the very _least_ a faint one.

...

As time time runs by without something-anything- popping up, Pete’s horror continues to grow, slowly turning his freckled face as white as a sheet of paper.

He glances towards his colleagues who look at him in concern, not trusting himself to speak, Pete shakes his head in defeat, the silent message conveying more than words could. 

They thankfully seem to catch the hint, glimpsing at each other in understanding...

_ Varian is no longer with them.  _

******

...

...

...

Varian wakes up peacefully from his slumber, in a different place than he remembers going to sleep in, the sky above him painted in all kind of purples and reds.

His tired eyes squint, not yet having adjusted to the brightness. 

He yawns a deep breath, stretching out his limbs far and wide before sitting up, the light colored wheat beneath his bare feet tickling him.

_‘My handcuffs are gone’_ , Varian can’t help but remark, quite curious to know how that happened. 

Funnily enough, he notices that his arms no longer seem to be broken either, Varian now being able to shift his fingers without pain.

_ How strange. _

Rising to his feet to look around this mysterious place, he also notes that finding his footing is no trouble at all. 

_ It’s almost like he was never injured at all... _

Then he sees it in the distance, the vague shape of something humanoid. Intrigued by the peculiar figure, Varian moves closer to it, wanting to see what- or rather _who_ it is. 

As he nears, more details come to light, one by one. 

It’s a human, a very large human in fact, with their broad back turned towards him, a brown fur coat seen to be wound around the person’s shoulders.

The nearer the proximity Varian gets, the more familiar the person becomes, until he even dares to call out to them.

“Dad?” 

The man turns around to look at him, revealing a sorrowful smile painted on his face while he opens his arms to an inviting hug...

...It’s dad. 

_...It really is dad_.

Wasting no time, with speedy takeoff, Varian full on sprints through the wheat field, the long straws tangling into his legs while he tearfully prepares to launch himself into his father’s warm embrace. 

Something stops halfway through though, making him crash headfirst onto the ground by unexpectedly grabbing onto his left hand. 

Varian furiously turns his head around to meet the thing stopping him from reaching his father, coming face to face with a a short little girl- barely reaching his waist in height- with large ram horns on her head.

Peering down at his left hand, he sees that she’s not only holding it, but fused with it.

  
Looking back up at her face, Varian sees a wolffish grin spreading on her petite face.

“Who the hell are you!?” Varian hisses angrily.

The girl’s grin doesn’t even falter a bit at his aggression.

_“A part of you, in a sense.”_ Her voice was warm and welcoming, but it still made ice cold chills go down his spine.

Varian doesn’t get any time to digest this new information before the girl starts dragging him away in the opposite direction of his father with an almost inhuman strength. 

Panic starts to settle in his gut, making him squirm and pull and kick and scream, anything to get separated from this...person. Annoyance seems to settle in the petite girl’s frame at his escape attempts, only dragging him faster.

_“Why are you fighting, child? Isn’t this what you deserve?”_ She says, flashing a sinister smile in his direction. 

It drops at his confused expression. 

_ “You said it yourself, didn’t you? You’re a disgrace, a disappointment, a horrible person. I’m just taking you to the place where others like you belong.” _

** _ “In the fiery pits of hell.” _ **

******

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooooooooooooo, this is the end of act 1. In act 2, the crossover is happening. So for you guys that only came for the Tangled angst and want nothing to do with it, this is a nice place to leave on. 
> 
> P.S: School isn’t shutting down because of COVID-19 where I live, (Sweden likes not giving me breaks) and it’s exam season too, so until all of my schoolwork is done, I will sadly not be able to update this story. 
> 
> It will be on a really short hiatus, if that’s okay with you guys, of course! <3


	13. Start. Act 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for 100+ kudos! I am so grateful for everyone who has decided to stick around all the way to Act 2!

Varian barely has any time to process anything of what’s going on before the horned girl walks right of a stray cliff, dragging him down with her due to the weird fusion of their hands.

He lets out a choked gasp at the unexpectedness of it all, _barley_ catching the look of pure _glee_ on her tiny face as they both swiftly cascade down into the void of endless sky.

Not trusting himself to speak without his voice cracking embarrassingly, Varian instead throws a panicked look her way, hopefully conveying the true extent of _‘what the actual fuck’_ he’s currently feeling. 

She doesn’t say anything to explain herself, just widens her toothy smile even more, seemingly enjoying his panic.

(As if she wasn’t _already_ creepy enough) 

To sell the whole ordeal, the girl doesn’t even seem to be affected by the _blasting_ air _at all_. While Varian’s hair and clothes are pulled backwards by gravity, fluttering wildly in the wind, not even a _single_ strand of hair moves out of place on her head, despite _everything_ pointing to that it should. 

Hardly wanting to look at the horned girl’s unsettling face any longer than has to, Varian turns all his attention towards his environment that is hopefully more logical than the girl in front of him.

  
This is a mistake, because the sky is even more strange and nonsensical, where the constant shifts between red, yellow and violet makes it impossible to tell if it’s sunrise or sunset- even the sun and moon can both be seen hanging high in the sky at the same time!

  
_Great! Wonderful!_ Since _when_ does that even _happen?! Here apparently!_ Screw _all_ scientific principles and laws _, screw logic!_

Varian can almost _sense_ the exact moment he’s about to snap, but is _rudely_ cut off by the universe wanting to make everything even _harder_ for him. Because suddenly, _for absolutely no reason at all_ , the sky decides to turn a pitch back color, so dark that he can’t even tell where the goddamn creepy child(?) is.

Varian feels a wave of rage- an emotion he knows like the back of his hand at this point- _boil_ under his skin, and he _absolutely_ would have screamed out his inner thoughts like a sailor, had his and the girl’s rapid descent into the darkness not pressed _all_ air out of his lungs, effectively stopping all source of sound from escaping past his lips.

Now _entirely_ blind and mute, all Varian can do is listen to the heavy winds swoosh past him at incredible speeds, picking up his clothes in the air along the way.

He can feel how they thrash and fold against his thin frame. 

Eventually, for better or worse, the darkness finally starts clearing away, revealing that the horned girl has disappeared out of thin air.

  
...Varian doesn’t even _want_ to know how that’s even scientifically possible. His brain has _already_ been abused with enough stupidity to last a lifetime.

Turning his attention elsewhere, Varian looks downwards to find the discovery of solid ground within eyesight! 

Yes, finally! He can’t wait to stand on his two feet again!

Although...upon closer inspection, Varian notes that it doesn’t seem quite as inviting as he wants it to be, with it coming in the form of a murky and unsettling looking pentagram. 

...

Varian takes back his previous excitement of wanting to stand again, ‘cause he very much wants to stay in the air forever now, thank you very much. 

Tragically, the universe apparently doesn’t seem to like him- _like at all_ \- so he just continues plummeting down towards it with the grace of a flailing chicken. 

(Falling from tall heights have been an unusually common occurrence for him recently, it’s quite concerning.)

The closer he gets to the pentagram, the more details Varian gets to spot. Like the fact that there is a lot- and he means _a lot_ \- of buildings, and everything on the large pentagram is colored in some shade of red.

Varian is unable to do anything as he feels himself crashing down into a thin and desolate alleyway in some random city, the sheer impact being enough to leave a small _crater_ in the concrete. 

He doesn’t remember being _that_ heavy...

The last thing Varian is able to spot before blacking out is the strangely reflective surface on the place where one of his feet should have been, looking a whole lot like a black rock.

...

******

...

Cassandra can’t help but grit her teeth in frustration when Rapunzel hugs her tight, the ringing in her ears preventing her from hearing what the she has to say. 

Trying her best not to scream out obscenities, all Cassandra can muster to say is an “okay, Rapunzel” as soon as Rapunzel’s done with her little speech.

The girl leaves the embrace as fast as she initiates it, going up to chat with her boyfriend, Eugene.

Cassandra can admit it, six months ago, she wouldn’t have been feeling this kind of animosity towards her best friend. But things change- _people_ change- and often not for the better...

Being overlooked and cast away has _always_ been a constant for Cassandra, like she’s a replaceable puppet in a world where people value importance, power, beauty- she could go on...

But for just a moment, when she’d seen the wide and curious eyes of Rapunzel, still fresh out of the tower, outright begging to be her friend, Cassandra has let herself think she was worth _more_ than a simple princess’s lady in waiting- _more_ than a captains daughter or an orphaned child-

-For just a second, Cassandra had let herself think that she might be valued and acknowledged for her _own_ person and skills, not just somebody’s tag along...

...But then, sometime during the journey, Rapunzel had stopped _listening_ to her advice, stopped _seeing_ her as someone _equal_ to her...

...To put the cherry on top, when Cassandra had walked through that mysterious door in the house of yesterday’s tomorrow, she’d seen some...angering memories, to say the least.

It had been utterly confusing to Cassandra at first, when she walked in and just saw a bunch of trees and whatnot. But the more she had went in and explored, the more she’d understood. 

It almost didn’t surprise her when she’d spotted a mini Cassandra running around her childhood home, sweeping and cleaning, happily waiting for her mom to return in a few hours at best, a week at worst.

She’s always been waiting ever since she was born...

Something broke inside Cassandra when she’d seen how her own mother had chosen Rapunzel over her. She inwardly _knew_ it wasn’t Rapunzel’s fault...but still, it had hurt _\- still_ hurts immensely nonetheless...

The fact that Rapunzel has _always_ been more important than herself- who had done absolutely _anything_ to get even a _shred_ of affection from Gothel- even when she was an infant. 

So now, when she can see the moonstone’s electric blue shine in person, Cassandra can’t _help_ but feel drawn towards it like a moth to a flame. 

_ ‘This might be your only chance in life at being remembered for something- anything,’  _ her mind tells her.

_ ‘This might be your only chance at having a destiny.” _

It doesn’t take all that much convincing to run up snatch it away before Rapunzel can even so much as grasp it.

The reaction is instantaneous.

“Cassandra? What are you _doing_?” Rapunzel voice quivers, bewildered and blinking her emerald eyes several times, seemingly not wanting to believe what’s happening in front of her. 

“I’m fulfilling _my_ destiny!” Cassandra hisses in pain. Touching the moonstone feels like holding lightning at its _purest_ form, burning her already burnt hand with its intensity. 

Cassandra presses it down to her chest, the resulting collision being a big and wide shockwave that shoots everyone except her back, instead changing her raven hair to the same electric blue as the moonstone, and making black rocks cover nearly her entire body in an unbreakable armor.

Rapunzel peers up at her from her her position on the stone floor, long blonde hair draping over her face like a banner. Eugene seems to be the only thing keeping her from collapsing onto the floor. 

Him and her both stare at Cassandra with a deep sense of betrayal ever present in their eyes, expressions twisting like they’re either about to start sobbing or screaming at her.. 

Cassandra ignores the way the that the expressions pull at some of her heartstrings, instead favoring getting out of the chamber as fast as possible. 

Smashing the large port to the hallway, she manages to make it quite far before a determined shout stops her right in her tracks.

“Cassandra, listen!” Comes Rapunzel’s voice loud and clear, demanding attention and respect.

And attention she gets, Cassandra turns around to meet the young woman’s determined gaze head on with her own stone cold one, silently indicating that she’s listening. 

“I might not know what’s going through your mind right now, but _please_ listen to what I have to say.” She pauses to take a breath before continuing to speak. 

“It’s _not_ too late to turn back right now! Just give back the moonstone right now so we can fix this problem like adults.” Rapunzel starts moving towards her, reaching her hand out like one might do to a feral animal.

The walls made of black rocks start shaking the room slightly as Cassandra backs away defensively. The girl with golden locks notices this and slows down her approach a bit, continuing to speak calmly as she does so.

“Cass, look into my eyes. I know you, and I _know_ you’re way better than this-“

“Oh _really_?! Just quit it, Rapunzel! Stop pretending to act like my _friend_ when all you ever _do_ is act condescending towards me!” 

The walls tremble even more at her sudden outburst, making Rapunzel spare a concerned glance towards them before focusing on Cassandra yet again.

“You know that isn’t true. Please, _please_ trust me, we can fix this together! Just wait!” 

...Wait. 

... _Wait._

That single word makes her heart pump in rapid succession, fingers shiver and words get stuck in her throat. 

The black rocks on the walls- that before only trembled slightly- are full on rattling the entire room like an earthquake. Making statues fall over and pots are break under the pressure. 

Cassandra- even in her dazed state- notices how a large crack starts growing and climbing on the wall beside her, reaching all the way to the ceiling and circling right over Rapunzel’s head.

Almost a moment to late does she notice the piece of rubble starting to fall towards the young woman.

Cassandra might not love- or even like Rapunzel anymore, but in no way does she want her to die. So taking the initiative to run up and push her out of the way isn’t a hard decision to make.

After all, risking your life for the royal family is a thing she learnt at a very young age...

Time goes in slow motion as the rubble casts a dark shadow on top of her, seconds away from crushing her under its heavy weight. 

...

Rapunzel’s horrified expression and broken scream is the last thing Cassandra’s able to perceive before everything turns to black. 

...

...

...

******

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here I go again, killing my favorites in gruesome ways. >:)   
> But for real, I found that Cassandra’s dynamic with Zhan tiri was awesome, but personally...I think it weakened her awesomeness as a villain. 
> 
> So in this version, Cass goes through the house of yesterday’s tomorrow alone. Feel free to hate me. I just think it would be a cool scenario. 
> 
> Spoiler for next chapter: 
> 
> When Charlie opens the door, she expects to find see some demon coming to mock her for her goals. Instead, she looks down to see a very short and very terrified looking child.


	14. Encounters. Act 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey again. I still feel like absolute shit, so sorry if the chapter came out bad. Exhaustion has been pulling at me recently, and I feel oddly empty recently.
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoy the chapter. I did my best.

Cassandra’s eyes shoot wide open as her body startles itself into a sitting position, a frightened scream leaving her throat. Fresh memories come flooding back into her mind, images of the rubble and Rapunzel’s horrified expression running on loop inside it.

_ ’Did I die? I had to have died. But how in the world am I still breathing?’ _

Cassandra impulsively moves to stand up, the sudden use of motion making her head spin. Ignoring the incoming nausea to the best of her abilities, she hastily turns around to scan her surroundings, electric blue hair swaying with every twist of her body. 

Looking around seems to be a big mistake, because it doesn’t help her calm down one bit, instead fueling the fire that is her fear. 

The long wheat that she’s standing on is the _only thing in sight_. Not a tree, bush, or even a small hill can be seen, just plain ol’ wheat. _Albeit_ a very pale kind of wheat, almost white in its complexion. 

To contrast the pseudo normalcy of it, the sky above her is unnaturally bright and saturated, shifting between colors every few seconds. 

_‘Where in the world am I?_ ’

Her confused trance is broken by someone’s hands latching onto her shoulders in a death grip and speedily taking off into the air, the ground beneath disappearing out of sight at an _impossibly_ fast rate.

Frightened beyond belief, Cassandra twists her neck around like a whirlwind to see the thing keeping her afloat. And lo and behold, possibly the most _terrifying_ thing she’s ever seen stares back at her. 

It’s a grey colored creature with large wings flapping on its back. The head is covered in what seems to be some kind of robotic helmet, large horns curling behind its head with a screen of some kind projecting a malicious looking grin. 

Cassandra’s first instinct is to call the creature demon, but it looks _more_ what an angel is supposed to be depicted as, with the floating halo and feathered wings being the most obvious signs.

“W-what are you and w-where are you taking me?” Cassandra tries to say in a confident sounding voice, but instead sounds pathetic with her continuous stuttering.

The creature doesn’t give an answer to her question- _doesn’t even react to her voice in fact_ \- it just merely continues flying higher and higher meanwhile Cassandra’s dangling to her death- or is it _second_ death? Can she even die anymore? _She sure hopes not._

After a while of going straight up, the sky suddenly turns white as snow, revealing the surface of a large, likewise white sphere with a large light blue halo surrounding it. 

_‘Is this heaven?’_ Cassandra can’t help but ponder to herself. 

_“Welcome to heaven Cassandra~.”_ Comes an unsettlingly robotic voice behind her, as if reading her mind. Cassandra does a double take, eyes wide like an owl. 

_‘...So the creature can speak after all? Good to know! And it knows my name at that? Not as good! But I’m going to heaven! So that’s sweet!’_

“Am I an angel now?” Cassandra can’t help but ask aloud, trying to get as much information out of the angel(?) as possible while it’s still in the mood to speak.

_ “In a sense~.” _

“What do you mean by _‘in a sense’,_ am I one or not?” Not one known for having a lot of patience even on the best of days, annoyance starts seeping into her mind almost instantly at getting such a vague answer. 

_ “You are one, but at the same time not...You’re like me and my kind, a saint that’s done sin~.” _

_ “Me and you are what is called an Exterminator. And what that is, you’ll find out very, very soon, Cassandra~.” _

******

...

...

...

In a long and narrow alleyway placed in the middle of a city, a passed out Varian slowly regains back consciousness little by little, his forehead hurting immensely and everything blurry. It feels like he hasn’t slept properly in ten years. 

A big yawn leaves his lip, making him inhale the city’s dirty air that vaguely reminds him of the prison’s unforgettable stench.

Varian tries stretching his legs to help his brain get a jumpstart, but can’t seem to find them anywhere. Just two black rocks lying in their place...

_‘How in the world did they manage to follow me here?’_ Oh well, better not think about it too much. The rocks are lying on top of his legs, in any case. Varian should probably drag them out before blood stops flowing. He can already barely feel them- and what he _does_ feel is ice cold. 

So Varian tries to drag them out carefully, only for the black rocks to follow him instead.

Having harbored more than enough fear of material to last a lifetime, he smartly decides to scoot away towards the nearest wall, as far away from the two rocks as possible. 

Sadly, Varian can’t get all that far, because the edge of the crater he’s in blocks the way- _wait, hold up, **since when was there a crater there?!**_

His thoughts get interrupted by the two rocks- _to his absolute horror_ \- dragging themselves towards him yet again, following his slightest movement...

...Like a pair of legs would. 

Wanting to desperately debunk that little theory, Varian hyper focuses his attention onto the rocks, only for him to add _more_ fuel to the fire. There’s functional joints at where knees are supposed to be, they even get wider where he thinks the ankles are, giving the illusion of feet...

_ ‘Nope, nope, nopity nope, this can’t can’t simply be possible!’ _

...Or maybe it can, Varian saw a creepy girl defy the laws of physics, and he’s seen a sky change color with very short intervals. He’s also died, seen his father standing on a floating wheat field- who is also probably dead at this point- having rock feet should be _well_ within the realm of possibility...

...But Varian simply cannot accept that. His legs have been made of flesh and bone for as long as he can remember, and that’s how it’s _supposed_ to be! They can’t just turn into something like black rocks...the chemical buildup is way to different!

Oh yeah! Maybe it _isn’t_ black rocks after all... just his normal legs that have been _severely_ deformed and discolored, it was a pretty high fall after all...If the sheer force of the landing made him pass out, why couldn’t it destroy his legs? Varian broke his arms from a way lesser fall...

With a twisted form of hope, Varian bends his ‘ _legs_ ’ to examine them for the telltale signs of black rocks- like the unique pattern they all share- but he ends up forgetting it once he takes the time to peer down at his arms, thin and pale as snow.  


But they were like that before too...so it doesn’t surprise him.

No, what truly makes Varian gape like a fish is the fact that his arms are covered in gloves again. If it were the slick and classic ones that he’s _always_ worn, it would have been _fine,_ he would have even jumped up and down in pure joy.

...But these gloves _aren’t_ like those gloves, they make Varian stare at them completely paralyzed, all kinds of emotions through his head at a mile a minute.

They cover his hands like any ordinary gloves should, and they travel up and end near his elbows exactly like his old ones did... _however,_ that’s where all the similarities end. 

Instead of chemical proof leather, they’re made of the same semitransparent yellow piece of rock that he’s ingrained into his mind for months. 

**...The amber... **

...How the hell is that possible? As far as he knows, the amber back at home is the only one of its kind. Varian feels his own breathing steadily speed up, near hyperventilating. 

As he’s about to curl up into a ball and just cry his eyes out- _because he thinks he deserves that at least_ \- the world is clearly doesn’t think the same. It decides to take that sweet opportunity to show Varian his own reflection in the dark and eerily shiny texture in one of his‘black rock’ legs.

If Varian didn’t know any better, he would have said it was an entirely different person looking back at him, big blue eyes with cat like slits, surrounded by completely pitch black scleras. And those jagged, inward facing teeth that sit beside his two large front ones. 

_ ‘...What the hell happened to me? Why did this happen? How did it happen?’ _

They’re all fair questions that Varian wants an answer to right away, already brainstorming and constructing different ideas that all lead to nowhere in the long run.

In his attempts to figure everything out, Varian almost misses the large bag of trash that’s just about to hit him in the head. Letting out an unmanly squeal,  Varian barely manages to jump out of its way. Surprised and incredibly confused, Varian stares up at where the bag came from, face traveling all the way up to an open window where a _pissed_ looking reptile is staring at him in disdain-

_ ‘Wait, hold up, why does the reptile look like an old lady? Is it just horrible genetics or is it something else..?’ _

_‘...Maybe the lady has underwent the same changes of appearance as me...?”_ He’s about to politely ask her just that, but is beaten to it by her opening her wrinkly trap. 

“You’re in the way of the dumpster, jackass, move before I throw another one at ya!” She shouts angrily, voice cracking with old age. A scaly finger stretches out to point at a thing- probably the dumpster- behind him. 

“How am I the jackass here!? You’re the one who threw literal trash at me!” Varian childishly screams back at her in the same tone, stomping his foot, wholeheartedly having forgotten his near panic attack in favor of starting an argument with the rotten hag. 

Unfortunately, it doesn’t look like she has enough energy for that, because she just slams her window at him.

How _rude_ , Varian had even created the perfect comebacks for a situation like this...

Oh well, Varian shouldn’t really be surprised. At least he got the long overdue reunion with his old friend, anger, who’s stuck with him through thick and thin recently. 

Seeing no point in standing and lingering around like a creep, Varian takes a few steps forward, wandering out of the thin alleyway and out to the main street. 

Walking turns out to be quite a struggle, him being all wobbly and unbalanced- getting the attention of some of the city residents- who also all look vaguely inhuman to different extents. 

It irks Varian to an absolutely infuriating degree. His newfound ‘black rock’ legs are incredibly hard to adjust to, them just _having_ to be significantly taller and narrower- _not to mention heavier_ \- than his old fleshy ones. And the lack of shape his new ‘ _feet_ ’ have gotten is no better- heels and toes replaced by a small flat surface that gradually tethers to a fine point.

Varian thinks that if the world really felt the _need_ to modify some of his bodyparts to stuff he can’t _stand_ to look at..it could have _at least_ have the mind to make them into something with some practical use. 

_ Like come on... _

Turning around the street corner, Varian wanders out to the open city square, slit eyes immediately setting target on the clock tower situated right in the middle of it. 

His mouth gapes at the sight of it, jagged teeth on full display. But he can’t help it...It’s so _enormous_ , almost to the scale of one of the _castle’s_ tallest towers. Both arrows _easily_ being as tall- if not _taller_ than his entire body. 

Looking at it even closer, Varian also sees that there is a demonic looking creature painted at the base of it, posters of different kinds covering some of it up. 

A number plate above said painting suddenly changes from 363 to 364, _probably_ depicting the change of date...Varian is taken aback by it, isn’t the clock is going by way too fast? He could have sworn it had been midnight just a few hours ago- a day can’t go by _that_ fast, right? 

Mulling over it for far longer than what is reasonably healthy, Varian’s other basic bodily functions get ignored- like paying attention to where he’s going- so it was really only a matter of time until he smacked right into a wall. 

Paying no mind to the snickers behind him, Varian tries to escape the embarrassing scene by going inside the closest bar- ears turning a shade of beet red.

While the outside of the bar looks gloomy with its cheap looking design, the inside is _everything_ but. Bright lights are shining from the ceiling, flickering between pink and green and blue. The sight makes his jaw drop for the second time that day. 

_ ‘The technology here is so fascinating!’ _

Trying to not look like an idiot by just standing in the doorway, Varian slowly steps inside and moves toward the counter, careful as to not accidentally trip on somebody’s feet. 

Ringing the little bell on top of it, the squid like bartender turns around to look down at him with a blank stare. “What drink do ya want, kid?” He asks in a tired voice from under his tentacle beard. 

“Just a simple ale, thanks.” Varian answers in an equally tired tone. The bartender gets to work right away, not wasting any time before swiftly sliding the finished ale over the counter.

Varian- who _really_ doesn’t feel like moving his new legs more than the absolute _necessary_ \- settles down on the closest empty stool by the bartender, taking a sip once in a while before his common sense kicks in, making him realize that ordering something was a _huge_ mistake.

He doesn’t have any coins...Hasn’t had any in his pocket for months. And if this place uses a different kind of currency, Varian can 100% guarantee he doesn’t have it.

‘ _You just fucked up severely_ ,’ his brain helpfully informs him. And fucked up he has.

Maybe if Varian stole from the person next to him? No, the bartender is close and would _definitely_ catch him in the act, and the person being stolen from would not appreciate it...

Then, the _best_ the idea that Varian’s most likely ever had strikes. If he stays here, ordering a new ale every so often until the bar *hopefully* closes, he can sneak out when the bartender isn’t looking. Sounds like a great plan to him.

******

It has gone by exactly one hour, and Varian is already bored. What is there even to do in here, watching people making out behind him is not exactly enjoyable.

He looks at the guy next to him (the one he thought of stealing from) looks nice enough, with a buttoned black overcoat and cool hat- even with the whole anglerfish aesthetic going on- maybe he can strike a conversation up with him to pass the time? 

“So, what do you think of this place.” Varian begins awkwardly. The guy doesn’t answer or even look at him, just shrugs before taking another sip of his drink, fingers twiddling slightly. 

_ ‘Beautiful start Varian, you’ve barely even begun and he already finds you annoying.’ _

“Personally, I don’t know what to think, just plopped down here. But I got trash thrown at me and was called a _‘jackass’_ in the first few minutes, if that isn’t a good impression, I don’t know what is...” Grasping at straws, Varian tries saving the conversation with some humor. Luckily, the guy actually seems to chuckle a little, but still doesn’t look at him. He tries yet again.

“By the way, did you go to that weird floating wheat field before you came to- whatever this place is supposed to be.” 

Interest suddenly seems to spark inside the guys light red eyes at the question, because he suddenly starts speaking in an oddly squeaky voice.

“Yeah, I did. Don’t know how it works, but I’ve researched it for quite some time now.” The guy sighs in what could either interpreted as annoyance or exhaustion.

“You like science?” Varian asks, now fully engaged to talk with this guy. Said guy seems to get the same feeling, because he finally turns his head in his direction, his anglerfish like esca dangling slightly with his movement

“Do you?” The guys asks back, and Varian sees no reason to lie.

“Of course I do! I’ve done it for as long as I can remember. Alchemy is my main field of study, but engineering is also up there, what’s yours?” 

Eyebrows raise. “Alchemy, really?”

“Uh-huh.” Varian nods proudly.

“That stopped being considered as science long ago, kid.” 

“What do you mean? It’s the twenty first century.” Varian is baffled, cogs turning in his head at the new information. The male doesn’t sound like he’s lying, in fact, he sounds just as confused as him.

It looks like the guy is about to voice another opinion, but instead just sighs and says, “Look, I’ve- like you- also studied science for as long as I can remember, and alchemy was never a thing you could study. I _think_ the correct word you mean is _chemistry_.” 

“Chemistry...?” 

“Yes, _chemistry_. You know, the field where you study the atomic buildup of materials and see what reaction different elements can make when tested?” The guy seems to be one step away from exploding of irritation, so Varian decides to just let it go and accept that he’s wrong for once. The male looks to be older and more experienced than himself anyway, so he probably knows what he’s saying.

  
Varian’s not able to tell the guy any of that of that though, because screams of terror appearing blocks whatever could have come out his mouth. People can be seen running all over the place, winged creatures chasing after them with spears on full display.

Varian, a little spooked, turns around to ask the guy- _who he still doesn’t know the name of yet_ \- what’s going on, but he finds the barstool empty, and all the other chairs too. Even the _bartender’s_ gone. 

What in the...? 

The door suddenly gets kicked down, revealing one of the winged creatures standing in the doorway, scowl projected onto its screen like face. The blade of spear catches the light, revealing its sharp looking edge. 

Varian immediately understands why all the people are running. These...creatures want to kill them. 

_‘Oh shit,’_ is all that he can think as the creature notices his presence. 

******

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *That encounter* sadly didn’t happen in this chapter like I promised it would. But don’t worry, it’ll happen in the next chapter. Instead, Varian met someone who originally would have come a bit later in the story.
> 
> Can you guess who it is? ;)


	15. Threats. Act 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha, look at me, finally having updated my trash again.

Cassandra didn’t really know what to think about the whole ‘ _exterminator_ ’ business at first. To be honest, she still doesn’t. Everything before and after that conversation with that other exterminator is fuzzy, even memories from when she was still alive.

It bothers her a big deal, having these vague, unconnected memories of people she doesn’t know appearing in her mind without warning. 

Sometimes they feature a handsome looking man that she- _for some reason_ \- feels a vague disdain for, yet a sense of fondness towards. It confuses her to no end.

Other times the memories feature a petite woman with an extremely long head of hair- her presence bringing even more confusing feelings with her- hate, sorrow, joy and strangely enough...envy...

_‘Envy for what?_ ’ Is a question Cassandra has pondered to herself more times than she can count. What could this person have _done_ to the past Cassandra to make her express such envious and hateful thoughts? 

These moments of pondering never last all that long, because it always ends up with her getting a nasty headache. 

The only thing that’s actually completely clear in Cassandra’s head is her name- _of course_ \- and her new objective. 

“Exterminate as many demons in hell as you possibly can one day a year, and you’ll get to live peacefully in heaven until the cycle repeats itself next year.” Was what she remembers that exterminator having told her, hurriedly shoving a minimalistic looking spear into her hands-

And then everything is blank until the next thing Cassandra knows, she’s standing on top of a fluffy cloud, open portal in front of her and a bunch of creepy looking exterminators next to her, all as still as stone.

In a distant part of Cassandra’s mind, she notes that she’s now gotten the same form fitting outfit as the others, even down to the robotic helmet covering her strange blue hair and face.

...She’s nearly indistinguishable from the rest of the group, the only thing keeping her individuality in tact being that weird gooey stone placed right over her heart, and her slightly different shaped wings-

-Wait, _wings?!_ Twisting her head backwards, Cassandra checks to see if she’s just imagining things. But _nope_ , on her back sits a pair of brand new wings attached, sleek in design and also significantly smaller than her companion’s ones.

_‘Calm down, this is fine, it’s fine. Of course you have wings now, why are you even surprised anymore?’_ Is what Cassandra repeats to herself like a broken record, getting more and more fed up with her current situation. 

Not only does she not remember a single thing about who she used to be, not only does she suddenly have _wings_ now, but she’s also stood here waiting for hours upon end, _just_ so that she can jump down that dumb portal and murder some ugly demons! 

Why can’t this so called ‘ _extermination_ ’ start a little earlier? She’s _sure_ her company won’t mind, at least going by the bloodthirsty expressions displaying on their helmets...

The more she just stands around doing nothing- absolutely _nothing_ \- the more Cassandra starts feeling like a bomb about to explode. Stomping her foot is a big no-no, it would be to loud, and whistling has the same problem. There’s nothing able to help let out her pent up energy without it being too obvious.

Eventually, it’s all simply too much Cassandra to handle, and she lets out a frustrated groan...

_Or_ , that’s what she _would_ have done, had the world not taken that _exact_ opportunity to _finally_ do something interesting.

A bell’s enchanting tune can be heard ringing throughout the heavens shortly before exterminators start jumping down the portal towards the fiery pits of hell. Cassandra is one of the first to spring into action, not thinking for a second before nosediving right into it.

Her descent down drastically speeds up the farther down she goes, fast winds swooshing past her dull armor and hitting cream colored feathers. 

Compared to her fellow exterminators struggling to control their new body parts, spreading out her wings is a surprisingly easy task, like bending an extra pair glorified arms...

...It feels like she’s done this before...The memories are there, but they’re only the shore to a much deeper ocean, Cassandra not knowing entirely where the bottom might be...

...But for the first time since coming into the afterlife, she doesn’t _care_. In this moment, she knows that she’ll remember everything in due time, maybe not _today_ , but _someday_ she will..

Cassandra’s cheeks hurt with how hard she’s smiling.

...

Then the sky suddenly starts darkening into the shade of a sinister maroon, making her smile falter as fast as it came to be, replacing it with a mix of worry, determination and annoyance...Even though she barely remembers a smidge about herself, Cassandra has begun feeling like this is her default mood to absolutely _anything_ and _everything_...

As she gets closer and closer to the ground below, Cassandra gently flaps her wings as to have a nice and cushioned fall, the only sound emitting from her when she lands being a faint ‘ _thump_ ’.

The city Cassandra lands in is unlike anything she’s ever seen before- which isn’t _that_ hard of a line to cross by itself- _but you get the idea!_ There’s tall and modernistic buildings packed uncomfortably tight together, streets filled to the brim with unique and diverse looking demons. 

Some big, some small. Some massive, some barely reaching up to her knees. A few are cyclops, and a few don’t even look close to humanoid, instead being a hybrid of animalistic features.

Cassandra watches on passively as her group savagely flies into action, spears immediately beginning to pierce through unaware demons left and right. Inhumane cries of pain can be heard from every part of the city, begging on their knees to be spared, only to get brutally slaughtered by a stone faced exterminator...

It’s a gore fest at its finest...

Cassandra _would_ have felt bad for them, hadn’t they done inexcusable and vulgar acts of cruelty in their past lives. In a sense, this is _more_ than a well deserved punishment.

Still though, it’s a little... _much_...to watch in such horrific detail- blood gushing out and staining everything in its path- the faint smell of decay emitting from the stiff corpses laying in piles- almost certainly going to get stronger the more time passes by...

It doesn’t take _too_ much convincing to get herself to turn on her heel and walk away from the blood bath, with how bloodthirsty everyone is, there’s no doubt in her mind that they can finish the job without her help.

Taking a stroll through the city, letting all the veiny twists and turns of the neighborhoods be her guide, Cassandra eventually comes across the city square, a ridiculously tall clock tower situated in the middle of it. Demons who’ve yet to hide scurry out of her way do so as soon as they notice her in the area.

It’s obvious that the place was only abandoned recently, with paperwork and shopping bags dropped and scattered gracelessly on the ground, fruits and vegetables getting unfairly squashed in the process...

What a waste of such good fruit.

Out of pure curiosity, Cassandra decides to take a peek inside one of the least trampled bags, only to regret immediately thereafter due to seeing  dismembered body parts inside it...

...Pretending _not_ to have seen that, wanting it erased from her mind immediately, Cassandra continues on her way,  getting more and more disgusted with how the demons act. She watches on as a mother pushes her own child in front of the incoming spears, not a shred of remorse able to be seen in her body language. She watches on as a group of cannibals eat the carcasses laying on the ground raw, cheering as more people get slaughtered.

  
No matter how much the the thought horrifies her, Cassandra wouldn’t actually _mind_ slaughtering some of these people herself...

She would be doing the world a great favor...And she would also be able to chill in heaven until next year’s extermination comes and goes, rinse and repeat.

...Now that Cassandra actually takes the time to think about it, it’s quite a sweet deal!

When she turns a corner, Cassandra sees how another gore fest is occurring further down the street, this one even worse than the one she originally landed in. The demons don’t get a quick and painless deaths here, no, they rather get tortured in unimaginable ways...

... _Okay_ , Cassandra takes what she said back, nobody deserves torture like that...

Wanting to leave before her the urge to vomit becomes a reality, Cassandra moves towards the nearest building- in this case a shady looking bar. But she ain’t complaining, _anything_ is better than that... monstrosity.

To her deep annoyance, the door is locked shut...But that’s not going to stop her, not one bit. She’ll just have to get a bit _creative_...

Cassandra takes one step back, then another until she’s quite a distance away from the door, and charges towards it with the intent of kicking it down. She succeeds with the sheer power of brute force. (For the second time today, she feels like she’s done this a lot in her past life...)

Stomping inside with thundering footsteps, Cassandra examines the place. Everything seems to have been left in a hurry, mugs and wine glasses either having been spilled all over the tables, or sitting perfectly still. The chairs having been left in very much the same condition.

Cassandra is about to proudly declare it empty, but is stopped once seeing a startled twitch in the corner of her eye, said twitch belonging to a scrawny and scared looking kid sitting in the corner by the counter.  


Cassandra is quite surprised she didn’t notice his presence before, with his blue and yellow color palette standing out vividly against the otherwise completely red background.

The boy’s trembling from head to toe, stick thin arms raising in a useless attempt at defense. Cassandra could almost excuse it as just an innocent kid if it weren’t for the clearly demonic appearance.

His ears are unnaturally pointed, teeth jagged and inwards facing, reminding her of a shark. His slit blue eyes simply looking uncanny against his otherwise childlike face spotted with freckles, surrounded by an ocean of black.

Yeah, there’s no doubt this is a demon...probably quite a despicable one at that, having gotten into hell at such a young age...

The kid must have seen her preparing to launch her attack, because he smartly leaps behind the counter right as Cassandra flings her spear at him, the sharp blade of it propelling forward with incredible momentum before hitting the exact spot where he just stood. 

...Damn it, she missed...

The kid stares at the spear with a strange mixture of wonder and silent horror before full on sprinting inside the kitchen and out the backdoor like his afterlife depends on it, steps uneven and clunky sounding.

Cassandra doesn’t give him the luxury of getting away, quickly collecting her spear and running after him like a cat chasing its mouse. 

As they’re running, the short demon tries acting all sneaky, shortcutting through the alleyways and moving with unpredictable twists and turns at every chance given to him. 

Even though the thought peeves Cassandra to no end, she would have honestly lost track of the little guy a few times if it weren’t for his loud and uncoordinated footsteps consistently echoing behind of him, revealing his location even if he likes it or not. 

Due to her larger size, Cassandra manages to catch up to the scrawny demon in no time, his _pathetic_ attempts at speeding up working to no avail. 

Once being within an arms reach of her, Cassandra grips onto the hem of his shirt and slugs him onto the ground like a sack of potatoes, the resulting smack _somehow_ having enough power to crack the cement beneath him...

_ ‘How heavy is this kid?!’ _

Nevermind...Cassandra raises her weapon to do the finishing blow- _quick and practically painless_ \- but when the small demon actually rotates his body around, meeting her eyes- _or helmet_ \- up close with such a determined yet terrified look...Cassandra starts second guessing herself...

_‘Is this the right thing to do? What would the past Cassandra have done in this situation? Am I acting irrationally?”_ Are the thoughts constantly looping on repeat inside her head, taunting her with all kinds of wicked scenarios able to play out.

In the short moment of hesitation where Cassandra _finally_ lets her guard down, she truly doesn’t see the uppercut kick coming until it’s too late, one of the kid’s feet ramming itself to the bottom of her chin, the angle of the strike being enough to not just push her an impressive distance away, but also rip her helmet right off her head. 

She watches it fly, land and then roll away with a faint metallic sound trailing behind it, all while rubbing her chin that would probably bruise pretty soon. When turning her now bare face towards the kid again, she doesn’t expect the flashes of recognition prevalent from within the eyes of the demon, his mouth opening and closing before letting out a bewildered “C-Cass?”

Cassandra pauses everything that she’s doing to stare down the demon in front of her with a surprised expression....Seconds pass by without any of them saying anything, the boy steadily becoming more and more uncomfortable with the eyes pointed his way. 

Having recollected herself after a bit, Cassandra lets out a skeptical, “you know who I am?” 

The boy nods just a little too quickly for her not to notice, casting several nervous glances towards the spear still sitting in her left hand. Even though she’s not directly above him anymore, he’s smart enough to know that she can still kill him easily at any moment.

Cassandra takes his smartness to her advantage, getting right up in his face with the most threatening stance she can muster.

“I don’t know _you_ , and I don’t know how you know _me_. But your itty bitty mouth _will_ tell me exactly everything I ask-“ Cassandra nonchalantly points the sharp blade of her spear directly where his neck is, all while letting a small smile slide onto her face. 

“-Or blood will be spilt tonight. It’s all your choice, kid.”

******

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, *that scene* didn’t happen in this chapter either, and I know that I’ve disappointed a lot of people because of that.
> 
> But for real, guess what the reason was? It was yet another plot hole coming to creep up on me, and I blame Cass for the entire thing~! 
> 
> A not so fun fact I learnt today: Shoebill mother’s (a bird) will only raise one chick. So when 2 eggs are laid, the mother will leave the nest to let them hatch. When they hatch, one is always violent and aggressive, and the other is always timid and sensitive.
> 
> The violent one immediately rushes to assault the timid one on sight. When the mother comes back to see the aftermath, the timid one limps towards its mother for comfort and protection. The mother then takes the time to beat it to death until it’s only a blob of flesh and bones, raising the aggressive chick instead. 
> 
> :/


	16. Screen. Act 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a pain to write, plot holes and lack of planning aside. A tip when writing something, don’t stay up for 72 hours binge watching all the shows on your watchlist. Do I regret it? A little, it hurts to think.
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoy the chapter!

Never _ever_ has Varian felt so anxious in his life as he is now, being interrogated by the straight faced Cassandra sitting across from him, spear laying beside her in a silent threat. 

“Okay, Varian-that _is_ your name right?” She begins, arms crossed in front of her, looking unimpressed with what she’s been told so far. All Varian can do is nod politely and try not to piss her off. 

Hotheadedness has always been one of her signature features, but now with her _huge_ gap in memory and newfound job as basically an executioner, Varian doesn’t even _want_ to know what she might do when angered. 

The fact that her bobbed haircut and sharp eyes are now an electric blue aren’t helping his anxiousness at all, that eerie looking stone placed right over her heart probably being the source, it even sparking tiny sparks of lighting every once in a while.

“If I’ve understood you correctly, _I_ was the daughter of the captain of the guards in our kingdom, a lady in waiting for the princess, had a pet owl and was really good at fighting?” She concludes with a raised eyebrow and pursed lips, rather skeptical looking.

“Yeah...that sums pretty much everything up.” 

Cass clicks her tongue in annoyance, Varian flinches at the sound, it being much louder in the cramped environment than it has any right to be. 

After he’d agreed to her ‘ _deal’- if you could even call it that_ \- Cass had without warning warning latched onto his shoulders and flown right up into the air, scouting for a place to talk in private. 

Saying Varian had been terrified was quite the understatement, him having gotten a paralyzing fear of heights after repeated not so good experiences with them, so excuse him if he’d been sobbing like a baby the whole time...

The time in air luckily didn’t last forever though, Cass eventually noticing a fascinating looking vehicle situated in the outer corners of the city, surrounded by a bunch of stacked boxes. 

It had been unlike anything Varian had ever seen before, it looking like a caravan but with no horses, the wheels being made of thick rubber instead of flimsy wood. He could have stood there _all day_ just admiring it for its beauty, trying to find out how to replicate one, but got forcefully brought back to earth by Cass rudely tossing him inside the back of it. 

So now he’s here in this cramped and dim lit container, one of many boxes of fruit acting as a table separating him from the winged woman blocking the exit. 

_ Lovely.  _

“Okay, so that explains what my living circumstances were like, but _how_ am I connected to you exactly?” Cass asks with authority, leaving no wiggle room to say anything other than the truth. Too bad Varian hadn’t been listening to the most of it.

She must have seen the question marks floating above his head, because she pinches the bride of her nose in a way only adults can do when they find you irritating.

Varian would know, he’s had a lot of experience.

“ _What I mean is_ , what was our relation to each other?” She clarifies in exasperation, slamming her fist against the box of fruit in a seemingly harmless outburst of aggression. 

Though, try telling _that_ to Varian’s body, which immediately freezes up at the sudden movement, his fight or flight response activating even though he’s not in any direct danger whatsoever.

Fully focused on not making his heart jump out of his chest with how hard it’s beating, Varian misses the way Cass hesitatingly reaches her hand out towards his shaking frame in an act of concern. She almost touches his shoulder before wavering and quickly pulling it back, expression unreadable.

The minutes before Varian regains his ability to speak back are the definition of awkwardness, Cass twiddling with her fingers, fully content with staring a whole through the floor, and himself trying and failing to get his breathing under control, instead sounding like some random smoker on the street with how much he’s wheezing.

Eventually, the too long minutes are finally up, and Varian does his best to answer the original question, wanting _nothing more_ than to put that whole interaction behind him.

“W-we were friends, I guess?...Not that close, but it was _something_ at least.” He says with only a mild stutter, skipping over a lot of important details and events, like that little crush he had and that time he almost _murdered_ her.

But Varian has a little feeling in his gut telling him that saying _anything_ regarding that can of worms right now would only end up with him getting pierced through by a spear, and he _isn’t_ about that lifestyle.

Luckily, Cass doesn’t pry him of details or question his vague answer for once,mouthing a quick “okay” before continuing on with the next question, the elephant in the room being thankfully left unspoken.

“I’ve wondered about this for a while now, but how old are you _really_?” She expresses in an oddly cheeky tone, a likewise cheeky smirk plastered on her lips, lightening up the moody atmosphere immediately.

Varian has to take a moment to process the question, it being the first one to be directly targeted at him- _not counting his name, of course._

“Isn’t it obvious?” He asks in confusion, tilting his head slightly.

“Not really, no. You’re that weird type of person that looks to be around ten, but has a voice that suggests otherwise.” She even has the gull to point her little finger in his direction. Varian gapes, offended and his nonexistent pride wounded.

“I- _how dare_ -.” Having to stop himself before he says anything stupid, Varian takes a deep and therapeutic breath, inhaling the air with the faint smell of cigarettes.

“I turned fifteen a few months ago.” He ends up deadpanning. Cass raises both her eyebrows, forehead wrinkling with how high into her hairline they go.

“You’re practically a baby.” _Rude_.

“What awful thing did you even do to end up he-?” Her sentence abruptly gets cut off by a bunch of popping sounds going off in the sky at the same time, followed by manic cheering.

Both Varian and Cass scramble their way out of the strange vehicle to see what’s going on outside, prepared to fight someone if needed. But they’re pleasantly surprised at finding out it’s just patterns of color appearing and disappearing.

“Fireworks.” Varian thinks aloud. He glances up towards where Cass is standing, and becomes mystified as to why she’s looking in the opposite direction of the amazing spectacle. 

Squinting, he angles his head to see what she sees. 

There’s a medium sized circle surrounded by light blue fog, the inside of it revealing a light blue- _almost white_ sky with fluffy clouds floating around. 

That’s kind of weird on its own, _but he’s seen weirder._ No, what gets to him are the people with the same armor and wings as Cassandra flying through it in a hurry. 

“Cass, what’s going on?” Whatever trance she’s in breaks once he starts speaking to her, impossibly wide blue eyes meeting his own black ones, posture stiff.

Before he’s even able to comprehend anything else, she mutters a quick “thanks, bye” and sprints off towards that same portal, launching herself into the air, letting her elegant wings carry her forwards.

_Huh_.

******

For Cassandra, the panic starts setting itself deep in her bone marrow the moment she notices the portal back to heaven floating far away in the sky.

Her brain screams at her to fly towards it before it’s too late, but her body thinks otherwise, feet having firmly rooted themselves to the ground. 

The thing that snaps her out of her trance is the squeaky voice of Varian, determined yet carrying that underlying fear that’s been present every time he speaks with her. 

She barely glances down at the little guy before she’s off towards the portal, boiling down what she wants to say to a simple “thanks, bye.” 

Cassandra really wants to stay and tell him a proper thanks for his help- _even though it was reluctant_ \- but time doesn’t go slower just because you want it to.

She doesn’t remember even a smidge of herself yet, but she’s at least gotten an idea of who the past Cassandra was- it’s like she’s learning to read all over again, she _sees_ how the words look, she _knows_ how they _sound_ when spoken, but there’s a block in her mind keeping her from _understanding_ them. 

Cassandra tries flapping her wings harder to create a higher speed, most of her group having already passed through the portal long ago and herself not even being halfway there yet.

The winds are clearly not working to her advantage either, continuously pushing her backwards instead of carrying her forward. Cassandra grits her teeth and ignores the ache growing her wings, speeding up to the best of her ability until she’s soaring through the skies like a torpedo. 

_‘Come on, Cass, you’ll make it! Gather all of that inner strength hidden inside you and fucking do it._ ’ Is the mantra that keeps her going despite the exhaustion pulling at her joints, despite seeing how everyone except her has already left.

Cassandra becomes more and more reckless in her flight, flapping her wings at irregular intervals and never letting herself rest for a single second.

But deep down she knows it’s all wasted effort on an impossible goal, deep down she _knows_ that there’s not a single chance of reaching that portal in time before it disappears. 

Yet Cassandra is naive enough to lead herself on with the foolish denial of it might not being true, that it’s just her pessimism speaking.

So it hurts her even more than it probably should have when the portal shrinks away and disappears, leaving her behind, forgotten and alone...

It’s like she was doomed to fail before she even begun...

As Cassandra slowly glides back down towards the ground, disappointed, a small memory becomes clear in her mind, like a little crack forming in the wall to a large dam. 

———

It’s fuzzy you and not clear in the slightest, but Cassandra recognizes a few things. Mainly that it centers around a little Cass crying her eyes out inside a closet for some reason. It doesn’t take to long before a tall figure gently opens the door, peeking their head- _which has a funky looking helmet on top_ \- through it before walking in crouching before her. 

‘ _Dad_ ’, she instinctively remembers, connecting his appearance together with the descriptions Varian gave her of him. 

“Sweetie, you okay there? Why are you crying?” He asks kindly, worry evident in every wrinkle of his face. Little Cass wipes the tear stains coating her round cheeks away, face red. 

“Y-You won’t love me anymore if I tell you.” She quivers out wth effort. Her father immediately scoops her up in a bear hug, warm and comforting. 

“What in the world makes you think that?” He exclaims in a hushed tone, flabbergasted.

“I-It’s just, I messed at training again today too, m-more that usual. I scraped my knee at the ob-obstacle course, and my sword f-fell out of my hand every time I tried swinging it. W-what if I never become as good as the others, what if I’ll stay a f-failure forever?” Little Cass jumbles up all the complicated words, crying into his shoulder. Dad pats her back in an easing motion before speaking in a very serious tone. 

“I could _never_ stop loving you, even if you want me to. And for goodness sake, Cassandra, you’re _five_! No one expects you to be a perfect royal guard after only having been to training six times! Hell, it took me _years_ of hard work before I even reached the level of finesse you have now.” He lets the words sink in for a moment before continuing.

“ _Don’t go looking down on yourself for not knowing how to do everything yet, be proud of yourself for the things you actually have achieved! Practice makes perfect!_ Now, how about you leave this small closet to have some supper with your good ol’ pops, eh?” 

———

As the memory ends, Cassandra finds herself on her knees, the ground beneath her rough and uneven.

‘ _Why is my vision so blurry?_ ’ She wonders to herself before swiping a finger across her cheek, becoming surprised at feeling the wet texture of tears flowing freely down her face. 

It doesn’t take long before the telltale sounds of someone running towards her can be heard in the distance, heavy footsteps coming closer and closer, eventually revealing the small figure of Varian.

When he spots her, Cassandra can practically see the moment he reflexively tenses up like spring, fear present in every atom of his body. 

The boy slows down to a walking pace, only stopping when he’s about next to her. Up close, Varian looks even more nervous, his buckteeth unknowingly biting into bottom lip and limbs twitching in place, seemingly not knowing if they should move closer, stay still or simply run away.

“Cass, are you- umm- okay?” He ends up mumbling out, it being obvious that he doesn’t really know what to do in a situation like this.

“Yeah.” She responds, that one word saying much more than a thousand even could. “Yeah, I am. Thanks for worrying, kid.” 

Varian looks taken aback by her simple words, astonished even, like he’s never gotten genuine praise from someone else before. 

Dusting her armor off lightly, Cassandra swiftly rises to her feet, already on the move to another location. The demons will come out of hiding soon, and they’re probably going to freak out as soon as they lay their eyes on her, so it’s better to just leave.

When she doesn’t hear heavy footsteps following behind her, Cassandra swiftly turns around to see that Varian still hasn’t moved from his spot, instead playing around with his feet, paying no mind to the rest of the world.

“Hey, you coming or not?! I don’t have all damn day over here!” She proceeds to shout at him, making him immediately skitter over to her, gulping noticeably. 

Satisfied, Cassandra continues walking, suppressing a chuckle every time she hears stumbling and a string of silent but colorful curses behind her. 

They try avoiding going to any crowded places with a lot of people around, taking the more desolate streets instead, and so far they’ve not been stopped by anything yet- _believe it or not_. 

_So of course, the moment she mentions it, something has to interrupt_ \- in this case being that the screens- not unlike the one on exterminators helmets- inside an abandoned shop starts displaying buzzing static. 

Cassandra wants to ignore it and just move on, but Varian has permanently glued himself to them, stars in his eyes while he gushes over ‘ _technology unlike he’s ever seen before_ ’. 

Sighing, Cassandra waits for the nerd to be done already, static can’t be that interesting. Said static suddenly disappears, revealing a title card saying _‘666 news.’_

_‘How creative’._ Cassandra can’t help but snark to herself. After the title card comes the shapes of two demons sitting by a desk- one lady with red eyes and blonde bobbed hair, accentuating her too long neck- the other has a traditional suit and tie combo, gas mask covering his entire face. 

Cassandra can be barely hear what they’re saying with the way Varian continues nerding out in the back, squealing at such a high pitch that she can’t even comprehend what he’s talking about. 

Bonking him in the head to make him shut up for a little bit, Cassandra actually tries listening to what they have to say, only to become even more confused than before. 

_ ‘Turf wars? A snake demon and a cyclops fighting with egg people? Lewd remarks left and right?’ _

_ ‘What the...?’ _

“-Coming up next, we have an exclusive interview with the daughter of hell’s own head honcho, who’s here to discuss her brand-new passion project. All that and more after the break!-“ 

The screen turns to static again and Cassandra is left wondering what the hell just happened in front of her very eyes. “Did you get any of that?” She asks the shorter boy, but he just shrugs and says “nah.”

Not much more can be said before the screen cuts back to the demons, the guy with the gas mask getting replaced by a blonde girl wearing a red tuxedo and bow tie, looking uncomfortable sitting next to the woman with the red eyes.

“Welcome back!” Says the woman starts with a crazed expression. “So, _Charlotte_ -“ 

“It’s Charlie...” Corrects the girl helpfully, an awkward smile pulling at her face, only to be dismissed with a passive aggressive “whatever” from her fellow demon. 

Said demon gets right up in Charlie’s personal space, holding her pen in a death grip while grinning forcefully. “Now, why don’t you tell us about this new ‘ _passion project’_ you’ve been insistently pestering our news station about?” 

“Well.” Charlie begins, sighing. “As most of you know, I was born here in hell, and growing up I always tried seeing the good in everything around me.” 

_ Cassandra didn’t know that, she bets Varian didn’t either. _

“Hell is my home and-“ She gets interrupted by the lady next to her killing a bug with her pen, the blood splattering on Charlie’s cheek. She swiftly swipes it off with her hand before continuing. 

“-and you are my people.”

’ _Is this girl some kind princess?’_

“We just went through another extermination and lost _so_ many souls. It breaks my heart to see my people getting slaughtered every year, and _no one_ is even given a chance!” Charlie slams her fist on the desktop before standing up to pace around the studio. 

“I can’t stand idly by while the place I live is subjected to such violence! So, I’ve been thinking...Isn’t there a more _humane_ way to hinder overpopulation here in hell? Perhaps we can create an alternative way to change souls through... _redemption_? Well, I think yes!” 

Cassandra listens as Varian’s gushing turns to a grinding halt, both of them paying very close attention to the scene unfolding on the screen in front of them. 

“So that’s what this project aims to achieve. Ladies and gentlemen, I’m opening the first of its kind, a hotel that rehabilitates sinners!” She finishes with raised arms and all, and saying Cassandra doesn’t become inspired by her words would be a big fat lie. 

...This might be her second chance at getting out of this hellhole.

No longer feeling like watching the ‘ _news_ ’, Cassandra impulsively takes hold of one of Varian’s weird yellow gloves and drags him away from the screen, ignoring how he thrashes andpulls.

“Where are you going!? I was watching that!” He protests. 

“Did you not understand everything? I can always summarize what she said to you.” Cassandra offers generously.

“No need, Cass, of course I understood, but-“ “But _nothing_. We’re going to that hotel.” She concludes sternly. 

“What? Why?” Varian exclaims, not knowing when to zip his itty bitty mouth shut.

“To get redeemed, don’t you wanna go to heaven?” She confronts him, and to his credit, he actually takes the time to mull it over for a few seconds before answering. “...I guess?”

“Good. So we’re going to that hotel.” 

“Umm, not trying to be rude, but do you even know _where_ the hotel is?” He sighs, voice practically drenched with sarcasm.

“No.” Cassandra clicks her tongue.

“Do you have a _plan_ in mind at all?” 

“No.” 

“Should we go back to that marvelous invention called ‘ _screen_ ’ and find out where its location is?”

“No.” 

“Why not?!” 

“I don’t feel like it.” 

“Okay then, because you’re so, so smart, how’re we supposed to find it then?” His expression is as sour as she feels right now.

“By searching.” 

“Searching where?”

“ _Everywhere_.” 

“That could take us hours of unnecessary work!” He points out. 

“And?” Cassandra responds with a shit-eating grin on her face.

“Please kill me now.” Varian facepalms.

“Gladly.” She says as she raises her weapon. 

“No, I didn’t mean it in the literal sense!” 

******

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick reminder to readers: I don’t do ‘shipping’, so unless a pairing is officially stated as canon, I’ll not put it in here.


	17. Opening. Act 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a lot shorter than the usual, but it was much harder than the others to write. Why? Lots, and I mean lots of characterization. 
> 
> Anyhow, I hope you enjoy the chapter despite its lack of quality!

The lone figure of Charlie can be seen lying on a couch in the hotel’s lobby, seemingly asleep if it weren’t for her rolling around every few seconds, trying to find the best position possible.

It’s been an awful day, and Charlie feels just as awful. Yet another annual extermination has occurred, it’s pouring outside and her solution to fix overpopulation was just mocked on live television. 

Why did she think singing some stupid song would help? It just made her humiliate herself even more...

The short build of Vaggie suddenly walks into the lobby, light hair flowing behind her, almost reaching down to her feet in length and looking like a fan brush. She sighs once she notices her. 

_“I leave for just one minute to go to the bathroom and you’re already back to moping.”_ She soundlessly mutters to herself before going up to kiss her forehead. “C’mon, sleepyhead, it’s time to wake up.”

Charlie groans at that. A small chuckle leaves Vaggie at the adorable sound before she rudely decides to push her off the couch. 

“Why, Vaggie? I wanna sleep.” Is all Charlie can say while now lying unmoving on the floor, face in the carpet.

“It’s the middle of the afternoon.” 

“ _And?”_

“You have a hotel to run. Now get of the floor.” Vaggie scolds in a lighthearted tone, a little smirk prevalent on her round face. It soon disappears at the lack of answer from the taller woman.

“You okay?” She asks in mild concern, Charlie not usually able to stay grumpy for longer than five minutes at a time, more often than not being the personification of sunshine and positivity. She’s like the shining pearl in this sea of mud filled with horrific acts and deeds.

“No.” Her lover grumbles, ever the honest one, face still mushed against the carpet. 

Vaggie sighs once again- _an activity she finds herself doing more and more each day_ \- before plopping herself down on the couch with a muffled ‘thud’.

“Is it about the interview again?” She must have been spot on with her guess, because Charlie grunts with what what she interprets as a ‘ _yes_ ’ before rolling onto her back, staring up at the ceiling.

“Yeah, it’s just- _ugh, it can’t get out of my head_! Nobody will be able to take us seriously anymore after that whole fiasco, let alone want to come here!” Charlie rolls into a ball of shame after she’s finished talking, obviously upset.

Reassurance has never been Vaggie’s forte, per say, but she tries her best with the limited skills she has.

“Oh _c’mon_ , it could have been a lot worse.” Perfect response, Vaggie, you absolutely _nailed it!_

“Are you serious? I sang an embarrassing song about rainbows, got into a fistfight with the newscaster over a pen, set a literal person on _fire- how_ can it get any worse than that?”

“No one died...?” She gets the best deadpan stare in history at that.

“That’s putting the bar _insultingly_ low and you know it.”

“Hey, I’m sure it’ll be fine, okay? The hotel might not have the _best_ reputation right now, but it’ll get better. We’ve already gotten some help from Alastor- _despite how little I want to be associated with him_ \- I can and will admit that his renovations to the place are quite amazing.” 

Charlie holds back a chuckle at her honesty, looking more like her usual self already. 

“Yeah, they are.” She agrees, smiling like a dork before her eyes go wide like saucers. “By the way, the demons he brought with him are nice enough too. Niffty and Husk I think their names are?”

“You mean the cyclops neat freak and the alcoholic furry?” Vaggie tries to genuinely confirm, only to once again get the deadpan stare thrown in her direction.

“I beg of you, _please_ don’t call them that to their faces.”

“Eh, what they don’t hear doesn’t hurt them. Where are they anyway?” 

Charlie rubs her chin in thought, trying to remember the last time she saw them- it’s like telling someone what you had for lunch, it’s near impossible.

“Husk is probably passed out in the bar somewhere, and Niffty told me she was going to clean the upper floors-“ Charlie’s retelling gets suddenly interrupted by someone banging on the door like a madman, startling both her and Vaggie out of their skins. 

The couple just stares at each other in shock for a while as the banging continues on with the same intensity, basic human functions like blinking and swallowing forgotten.

Charlie- _being the first of the two to recollect herself_ \- hesitantly stands up and walks through the lobby, turning a corner to nervously answer the door, a little scared of what- or who might be behind it. 

People who’ve come to ridicule her in the aftermath of the interview? _Most Likely_. Dad who’s come to disown her once and for all? Not _as_ likely, but still well within the realm of possibility.

In any case, Charlie’s aware that Vaggie’s just one room away if something were to happen, and that information alone is more than enough for her to put on a brave face on and confront the person behind the door head on, twisting the doorknob and swinging it wide open like how you rip off a bandaid.

...

To be completely honest, Charlie had expected a whole lieu of things to be behind that door, but what she got was _way_ weirder than what she possibly could have predicted.

First of all, it’s raining, _it’s raining a whole lot actually_. Trash cans can be seen floating away on the streets filled to the brim with black and sooty water.

Charlie’s heard that earth has- or at least had transparent water because the planet’s so clean. (It’s hard to tell when Vaggie’s joking or being serious.) But ooo boy does she want to see it someday. Hell is such a small space covered with so many people who smoke and all that bad stuff, so it’s practically a goldmine for pollution.

Though the weather is undeniably strange today, it can’t even _compare_ to the absolutely drenched people standing on her doorstep. A young and malnourished looking demon- maybe around twelve in age- with a battered and clearly worn shirt hanging on his frame like a tent, googles sitting on top of his head.   


He’a accompanied by a woman who looks to be in her mid twenties, with cold, piercing blue eyes and wearing the classic exterminator attire, only missing the helmet.

“Good afternoon, miss.” The woman greets in a respectful monotone, with the slightest hint of a german(?) accent- like she didn’t just almost knock down their front door off its hinges with how hard she was banging on it. (Or was it the child?)

“Good afternoon to you too. It might sound rude of me to ask, but what brings the two of you _here_?” She greets back with a forced kind of friendliness, already on her guard, eyes scanning for any weapons on their personnel. 

To her luck, aside from the clunky looking spear, there’s nothing immediately giving her any red flags.

“No, it’s not rude at all, the reason why we’re here is simple really.” The woman speaks again, her monotone voice matching perfectly with her resting bithface. 

“We’d like to stay in this hotel, to get ‘redeemed’ as you can say. But only if you’ll have us, of course.” 

...

It takes Charlie’s brain far longer than she’s proud to admit to comprehend the full scope of those words, them just sounding like jumbled up syllables at first. But when they finally do click within her mind, Charlie’s jaw nearly drops to the floor in disbelief.

“I- umm, this is _very_ sudden, I’ll need to discuss things with my _colleague_...Yeah, _that’s_ what I need to do! If you guys can bear to stay out here in the rain just a little longer, I’ll be right back in no time at all. **_Bye!_** ” Charlie slams the door shut and locks it before they can even react, letting out the breath she wasn’t aware she had been holding in. 

Wasting no time at all, she rushes down the hall and into the lobby to find Vaggie sitting crosslegged on the exact same red couch she saw her last, scrolling through her phone in boredom. When she notices Charlie’s return, Vaggie’s head lifts like an excited puppy.

“You’re back sooner than I expected! Now, who was the madman-“ She isn’t able to even finish what she has to say before Charlie runs up and shakes her shoulders back and forth, making Vaggie’s head spin. 

_“There’s an exterminator and a kid at the door!_ ” Charlie wheezes, out of breath from running.

_** “What?!”  ** _

_ “There’s an exterminator and a kid at the doo-!”  _

“You don’t have to repeat yourself, I heard you! Where are they right now?!” 

“At the door....” 

“Why’re they at the door?!” 

“I told them to wait by it...” 

“Why the hell did you tell them to wait there-” Vaggie immediately stops her own shouting when she hears the quiet sobs from the person in front of her.

“I- uh- I.” Charlie’s lip trembles as her round eyes get a glossy shine, soft streams of tears running down her face like waterfalls, stopping at her chin and dripping down on the carpet in small little drops.

And Vaggie? Vaggie feels just awful. Charlie’s already had enough of a bad day as it is today- then add _another_ layer of stress by having to open a door for someone dangerous for the _second_ time that day- and it turns horrible.

...Vaggie sounding so outraged must have been the nail in the coffin, making everything tip over for her...

Wanting to fix her mistake more than anything, she walks forward with arms outbent, reaching to hold her girlfriend in a warm embrace, Vaggie having to stand on her toes to even reach all the way. 

She’s never been any good with words, but she hopes the hug can at least convey half of what she’s trying to say.

_ ‘I’m sorry’. _

The message must have somehow reached all the way across to Charlie, because she immediately hugs back like a teddy bear, squeezing all air out of her lungs as her sobs quiet down, eventually becoming nonexistent. 

The embrace eventually stops (her lungs are very grateful for that) and Charlie lets go, wiping her eyes with her red sleeve, smushing mascara and eyeliner absolutely everywhere, making her look like an adorable raccoon. 

“Thanks, I think I needed that.” She sniffles, a dorky half-smile playing on her lips, and Vaggie feels the urge to kiss her so badly. 

Instead she pats the seat next to her, gesturing for Charlie to settle down on the couch, which she does without any protest whatsoever, practically jumping at the chance. 

“Now that we’ve both calmed down, can you please tell me what occurred at the door?” Vaggie inquires softly. Charlie twirls a lock of her hair.

“Won’t that take quite some time though? I told them I’d be back as soon as I could...” The girl mumbles, making a valid point.

“Eh.” She shrugs. “Waiting in the rain for a few more minutes probably won’t kill them, take all the time you need.” 

“Well, where should I start then?” 

“How about the beginning~?” Charlie lets out a cute little snort before pinching her cheek in the way only she and grandmas can.

“Oh, you just _had_ to say that, didn’t you~?” 

“Yep, totally.” 

“Ugh, you’re insufferable. But okay- it starts with me hesitantly opening...”

******

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you know this fic started out with just 4 chapters? Now we’re 18 chapters in and we’ve only explored about 30% of the story! Why am I telling you this, you might ask?   
> Well, we’re getting an act 3 now. I unable to tell you anything about it, but it’ll be the last act of this story!
> 
> Anyway, I want to ask my readers who haven’t/aren’t planning to watch Hazbin hotel for some feedback. Is there something confusing you about the plot so far, if so, please don’t hesitate to comment and ask me to explain, okay?
> 
> As always, thanks for reading, leaving kudos and commenting on this fic, it helps a lot in these trying times. <3


	18. Coffee. Act 2

It’s been proximately eleven minutes and thirty-nine seconds since the woman last slammed the door on them, and Varian’s become very, _very_ bored. 

At first he was just puzzled, wondering what in the seven kingdoms just happened. He’d given Cass a sideways glance, but she’d just shrugged her shoulders with the same kind of confusion.

In essence, it hadn’t taken all that long for him to get bored of waiting on the hotel’s doorstep, there’s only so many times you can marvel at a place’s strange yet wonderful architecture after all...

Cass isn’t fairing much better than him, stomping her foot, kicking pebbles like they’ve personally wronged her, staring a whole through the door- everything of the likes. It’s strangely childish, not in _any way_ how he could’ve imagined the past Cass acting.

That’s somewhat of a pattern he’s noticed with her. She looks nearly the same, has almost the exact same personality- yet she’s so _different_ in the smallest ways. 

Cass is more open now, letting herself express what she’s feeling when she’s feeling- and he _knows_ she can’t be expected to act _exactly_ the same as before, with her being memory wiped and all...

...But still, it’s uncanny seeing Cass’ face having the capacity to express more than a simple smirk or frown. 

Speaking of her, she- _like a cat_ \- seems to want to avoid the pouring rain at all costs, pressing herself close to the wall like a pancake, seemingly having forgotten that she’s already wet. 

Varian himself is simply standing in place, letting the cold drops of water hit his raven hair and then trail down the rest of him, face comically blank.

He has no idea as to why it rains in hell, but when you’ve been dragged all across the city by an acquaintance at best for hours upon end, who also happens to not know where she’s going- you _kind of_ lose the ability to care anymore.

...

Now there’s been twelve minutes since the girl last slammed the door on them. 

Varian clicks his tongue in annoyance, the soul crushing boredom weighing on him like a beam of steel.

How much longer will he have to wait? Seriously, he’s actually considering laying down on the road and letting the flowing water carry him away to who knows where, ‘cause that would be _way_ more interesting than this. 

Minute thirteen passes by without a hitch, so does minute fourteen, fifteen and sixteen- and before he knows it, they’ve already hit the thirty-minute mark. 

Varian’s starting to think she won’t open the door again, which would make all this waiting a huge waste of time, but thankfully- that doesn’t seem to be the case. 

The door finally swings open, once again revealing the tall blonde woman in the red tuxedo, this time accompanied by a shorter one with dark grey skin and just one eye, the other one being covered up with a distinguished X. There’s a blood-red bow situated on the back of her head, contrasting with her light, almost white hair.

She looks vaguely like a moth, a really pissed off, tired looking moth. 

“Get inside now.” The moth woman orders with a huff before turning on her heel, and Varian can’t do anything besides obey and follow her inside, Cass doing the same.

The outside of the hotel might have been grand and impressive all on its own, but the scenery on the inside is even more so. Varian’s never been inside a church himself- Old Corona was a simple farming village after all. But a merchant once came to town- they struck up conversation and the old man told him stories about the time he used to be a pastor. 

Varian remembers vividly how the man described a church’s appearance, the larger than life structure, colorful stained glass windows lighting up the place, tall ceilings- all in all, this hotel is very similar to how Varian imagines a church might look...

  
Yet they somehow feel so fundamentally different from each other at the same time. 

The thing that most sticks out like a sore thumb is the mood. He’s heard that churches often have interior that’s very easy on the eyes, minimalistic and subtle in design.

This place has everything but that- black, umber, vermilion, red, so much _red_ everywhere, demanding your attention to every single detail. And oh, did he mention the _details_? They’re cluttered all over the place- on the walls, on the ceiling and floor, even on the _goddamn_ furniture.

The two women lead them to a lobby of sorts, a coffee table with a red couch and two stools on opposite sides, placed by the right side of the room. They beckon for him and Cass to sit down on the uncomfortable three legged stools while they themselves settle down on the comfy looking couch, their postures reminding him of royalty.

Varian frowns, disliking them already.

******

“I’m not one for unnecessary chitchat, so let’s make this quick. I’m Vaggie and that’s my girlfriend, Charlie. If you’ve got _any_ problem with us you can leave this instant. With that out the way, who the hell are you two?” The woman with the X covered eye questions, cutting straight to the point

“I’m Cassandra.” She says, pointing to herself and then the stool next to her. “And the boy over over there is Varian.” He doesn’t as much as make a sound.

“Okay then, Cassandra and Varian.” Vaggie says again, waving her cup of coffee around. Cassandra tries her best to not laugh at her absolutely butchered pronunciation of their names. “Were you lying when you said you wanted to stay here in the hotel and get redeemed?”

“No, we weren’t.” She admits, telling nothing but the truth.

“Oh, that’s great!” Charlie butts in with starry eyes, suddenly standing up and smacking the palms of hands onto the table, shaking the cups like an earthquake and almost spilling the coffee out. 

The total change in attitude from untrusting to suddenly cheerful pulls Cassandra out of her depth. 

“Which one of these would you rather fit with your interests, two separate bedrooms or a single one with two beds instead-?”

“Wait, wait, wait....you’re gonna move on just like that?!” Cassandra has to interrupt, bewildered beyond belief. Peering to her left, she sees that Varian’s expression is just as confused as she is on the inside.

“Yes? What’s the problem here...?” Charlie asks innocently while moving to sit back down, unknowingly making Cassandra feel incredibly dumb for even interrupting.

“Ah...It’s- it’s...umm-.” The words in her mind aren’t translating all that well to human speech. She knows what she wants to say, yet she doesn’t know how to say it, everything coming out her mouth sounding like mindless blabber.

_ ‘What a pain!’ _

Cornered, Cassandra gives Varian a wishful glance, hoping the kid to gets a clue and starts socializing- because of the two, he’s the one that’s better at this talking nonsense. 

But apparently- he’s _still_ feeling petty from before, because he just sips his coffee without a care in the world, ignoring her existence in its entirety- except for that almost unnoticeable little smirk he throws her way, similar to one of an amused cat.

_ ‘Real mature, you lil’ shit, real mature...’  _

“-nothing, forget I said anything! Please continue!” Cassandra ends up hollering out with an embarrassed blush- and the fact that she’s blushing makes her even more embarrassed- which (surprise, surprise) leads to her blushing even more ‘till even the tips of her ears are a pinkish tone.

...Ugh.

The two women on the couch spare one another a passing glance, then one aimed at her and lastly Varian, expressions unreadable. 

She can only imagine how much of a sight they are to behold, Cassandra red in the face like a tomato and Varian...Well, he’s not really doing anything outright weird, just silently frowning at no one in particular...apparently a new favorite hobby of his- he’s been doing it _a lot_ the past six hours. 

“Okay...? What were we talking about again, Vaggie?” Charlie asks, manicured nails tapping on her black dress pants. 

“Their rooming-“ 

“-Ah, yes, _thank you!_ Now I remember! Like any other hotel ever, you have to have a room to stay in- but you know that already-...I hope- so let’s get down to the good stuff!” Charlie cheers, once again smacking the table and rattling the cups, immediately thereafter digging a hand through the pockets of her pants and then skillfully sliding three tarot like cards onto the table.

“These are the kind of rooms you’ll be able to choose from.” She informs helpfully, picking up the first card. “Option one is a room with just one bed, usually reserved for couples- but something strikes me that you don’t have that kind of relationship, so let’s skip that one.” Charlie gently puts the first card down, lifting the second and third one up. 

“This narrows it down to option two and three, two entirely separate rooms or a single one with two beds. Which will it be? It’s all your choice, my friends!” She finishes with an excited squeal.

******

Vaggie sips her pitch black coffee calmly, watching on with mild amusement as the kid and blue haired woman’s face turn more and more overwhelmed with every word spewing out of Charlie’s mouth, looking like fish right out of the water at the end of her over-enthusiastic speech, blinking and gaping slowly.

Sighing deeply, Vaggie decides to give those two some mercy, silently stopping Charlie from giving them another one of her speeches by grabbing onto the back her hand, squeezing it slightly.

Although she enjoys seeing her girlfriend happy more than anything else in the world, there’s a limit to how much happiness and rainbows someone can handle here in hell without getting cavities.

And those two already seem to have reached theirs, going by how the exterminator looks like a Windows 95 trying and failing to load a 3D game and how the kid is chugging that cup of coffee like it’s the only thing keeping him sane. 

Speaking of said kid, once he’s done with the coffee, he raises his hand in the air, probably thinking he’s in school or something. 

“May I ask a question.” Varian asks, and _wow_ , Vaggie hadn’t expected the first words of the kid to be said in such a deep sounding voice.

Well, the more you know, she guesses...?

“You’ve already asked one, but sure, go right ahead.” Vaggie says, channeling the inner friendliness hidden deep down inside her being, but still somehow, _somehow_ \- despite her best efforts- sounding like someone just took a shit all over her computer. It results in the kid shrinking away and Charlie giving her that goddamn deadpan stare again, screaming ‘did you even try?’

Yes, she _did_ try _this_ time. It’s not _her_ fault children are these weird and sensitive... _creatures_ she doesn’t understand. 

Vaggie has a memory from when she was alive, the neighbors were going to leave the house for some random reason, and they asked her to babysit their two kids for like a day, a ten and sixteen year old.

‘ _It’ll be easy._ ’ They said... 

‘ _It’ll be fun_.’ They laughed...

Lies...they were all lies, that day was a more hellish experience than hell, she can’t even describe it without wanting to throw up.

Vaggie’s thankfully taken off memory lane by Varian (and no, she still doesn’t know how to pronounce his name) speaking again.

“Umm, how much will this all cost?” He says with a wobbly and forced looking smile, drops of sweat running down his little face. 

To her side, she sees how Charlie plays with a stray lock of hair that’s slipped out of her loose ponytail, no doubt figuring out all the math.

“Well, it all depends on what _type_ of room you want...” She mumbles. “But the average cost at a hotel of this size would be around 128 dollars a room per night? _Although_ , you guys are in luck, because you’re like...one of the first patients to come here, and our hotel aims to be as affordable as possible, so we’ll give you a 75% _discount!_ In total, 32 dollars per day!”

Vaggie puts the rim of the coffee cup against her thin lips, watching on as the kid’s posture doesn’t relax in the slightest, maybe turning even more tense.

“May I ask another question?” He says.

“Yes..yes, you may.” She rolls her eyes, taking another delicious sip of her deliciously warm drink, wholly unprepared for what’s to come.

“Excuse my language, but what in the actual fuck is a ‘dollar.’” 

The coffee that spurts out of Vaggie’s nose and mouth at that moment is like the Niagara Falls- burning her throat and nostrils while making her cough up a lung, like some kind of smoker. 

It takes a while, but Vaggie eventually finds a tissue and wipes herself off in embarrassment, Charlie giving her sympathetic pats on the back. Peering up, she sees that Cassandra has a blank expression and Varian’s brows are furrowed in genuine look of confusion. 

_ ‘Oh god...he seriously doesn’t know what a dollar is.’  _

_ ‘How do you even explain something like that to someone? Is it even possible-  _ no _ , Vaggie!  _ Happy _ thoughts!  _ Only _ happy thoughts! Of  _ course _ it’s possible, you just have to think real hard!’ _

...

...

...

After a few moments of hard thinking, she’s now decided to give up. It’s impossible. This day can’t get any worse.

But apparently it can, because just as she’s thinking that, the front door slams open in dramatical fashion, a ridiculously tall- four armed silhouette walking into the lobby. 

“Hey, welcome back!” Charlie exclaims to possibly the most irritating being in the world, also known as Angel Dust. “Come sit with us!” She says, already on her way to get another stool. 

Vaggie isn’t as welcoming, snarling and signaling for him to get as far away as possible. Sadly, he doesn’t seem to get the hint, settling down on the new stool like he owns the place. 

“Where were you?” Charlie asks, somehow able to keep her tone consistently kind. Vaggie doesn’t know how she does it, personally, she can’t stand being around this freeloading asshole for more than a minute.

“Eh, was at some random lizard demon’s place. Asked me to suck his huge di-“ That’s when he finally notices the two people next to him, one of them a literal child. “-donut flavored ice cream, yeah, that’s _totally_ what I meant. By the way, why’s there a kid and genocidal maniac here?” 

The resulting reaction is instantaneous, said ‘ _genocidal maniac_ ’ hastily standing up, lips pursed and clearly offended. “My name’s Cassandra!” She states loudly. “And for your information, true, I might be an exterminator, but I’ve never even _tried_ killing anyone here before.” Varian gives her the stink-eye. “Okay, except for that _one_ time- but I’m still not genocidal!”

Vaggie’s surprised, from her knowledge on the topic, even brand new exterminators have enough bloodlust to kill at least a few dozen demons every year, so finding one who hasn’t even killed one demon is pretty rare, impressive also.

However, Angel Dust doesn’t seem to think the same. “Good to know you’re a coward, toots, still not an answer to why you and the eight- something year old are even here in the first place.” He says with a shit-eating grin, the golden fang among his teeth shining brightly in the dim light.

“We heard that this hotel can rehabilitate sinners, so that’s- wait, why’re you laughing?” Cassandra asks with clenched fists when she hears his loud cackles, showcasing incredible restraint. 

“Oh, _please_ , you really believe that?” He wheezes out, barely taking a second to breathe.

“Yes, of course I do! Aren’t _you_ here for the same reason?” Cassandra asks, steadily becoming more and more fed up.

“Pfft, _no_? Going to heaven via redemption hasn’t even been proved possible yet! I just came her because it’s cheap, not because I’m some delusional bitch like you.” That seems to be straw that breaks the camel’s back for Cassandra, because before Vaggie even has an idea of what going on, she jumps on top of him. All hell breaks lose between the two, fists fly, teeth are punched in and screams echo throughout the hotel.

The three remaining demons view the spectacle with both wonder and horror. “Should we stop them?” Charlie whispers to her. Vaggie shakes her head, grinning as she sees Cassandra absolutely pummeling Angel Dust to the ground. “Nah, let them fight for a bit, this is fun to watch.”

******

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there, sorry for the late update. :/ I don’t want to go into the juicy details, but a fight happened with my mom last week, and it ended with my sister (beta reader) moving out. So now I have to edit everything by myself, and ooo boy does it take a long time. 
> 
> Also, swedish class has been kicking my ass lately. There’s a writing project that’s due on May 7th, and it’s supposed to make up 50% of my grade. :( I’ll have to devote all my time to writing it, so I can’t even start writing the next chapter until I’m done with it, otherwise I’ll get a big fat F. :/
> 
> Life sucks, man.


	19. Room. Act 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long delay! Spelling’s been so much harder now that I no longer have any outside help- so if anything in this chapter is particularly confusing or just plain out wrongly worded- don’t be afraid to help out! 
> 
> The quality’s absolute shit, but I hope you guys enjoy the chapter anyway!

Varian regards the scene in front of him with an odd sense of fascination. He doesn’t get how watching Cass beat the ever living crap out of that spider looking fella can be so entertaining...but it is.

When she pricks his eyes with the tips of her wings, a particularly wide smile spreads across his face like a butter.

‘ _Ahem_.’ The moth-woman coughs from behind him, ruining the moment and making Varian’s little smile vanish in an instant. The boy turns his head around, round eyes meeting the upturned ones of Vaggie, accentuated even more by her pitch black eyeliner. 

Varian- in his inspection, notices the coffee stain on the lap of her dress, the spot just a few shades darker than the white fabric itself. His brows furrow at the sight.

He doesn’t get how a simple question could’ve evoked such an extreme reaction as spitting out this heavenly drink. Was it really that outrageous and bizarre to ask what a dollar is? Did he accidentally offend her in some way by it? If so, that would be totally embarrassing. Varian really hopes she was just surprised.

It’s obvious to him that this so called ‘ _dollar_ ’ is used as some kind of currency down here in hell. And that it’s measured in numbers, much like at home. But that’s pretty much all the information he has at this point.

It infuriates him to no end. Varian is in no way stupid, he prides himself on being smarter than most adults, actually. Sleepless nights of just curiously reading books on no topic in particular is his sole reason for existing at all, eye-bags and haggard appearance be damned. 

So hearing these people just casually talking about a word he’s never even heard before is mind boggling. It makes him feel stupid, like a small child again. Not understanding what ‘ _funeral_ ’ means and the reason why mom’s being carried away in a coffin...

Varian forcibly drags himself out of those depressive thoughts before it’s too late, peering up at the much larger people in front of him.

“Who’s that guy?” Varian asks, vaguely pointing towards the spider like demon currently fighting Cass. Screams of ‘ _bitch_ ’ and ‘ _asshole_ ’ echoing in the background, followed up by snide remarks and punches to the face.

“Angel Dust.” The moth-woman responds with a hiss, lifespan seemingly shortening at the mere mention of his name.

“What’s he doing here, anyway? Does he work here, perhaps?” Varian asks, ever the inquisitive one. Vaggie rolls her eyes.

“I _wish_. He’s the first patient to come here. Doesn’t ever pay his rent though, that scumbag freeloader.” She mutters darkly under her breath, nails digging into the couch’s armrest. 

All in all, she looks like she’s going to blow up at _any_ second, and all Varian can do is blink slowly in a quiet acceptance of his possible death at her hands.

_‘Great, another rage bomb to deal with. As if one wasn’t already enough...’_ He snarks to himself, glancing in Cass’s direction before making eye contact with the two demons again.

“Can you please tell me what a dollar is? We got kind of sidetracked by your friend barging in.” The moth-woman purses her lips at his poor word choice, looking like she’s sucking on a particularly sour lemon, sprinkled with a pinch of salt while she’s at it.

Meanwhile Vaggie’s sucking on her lemon in misery, Charlie’s eyes light up like stars as she practically bounces at the chance of answering his question. The princess of hell hastily digs around in her pocket once more and pulls out what seems to be a wallet. She searches through it and then plucks out a piece of paper that she hands over to him.

“So, Varian, to explain it to you as easily as possible; this thing here is the American dollar. Hell’s most popular currency and the only thing keeping our society from crumbling to the ground.” Charlie states in a regal know-it-all voice.

Words cannot describe how unimpressed Varian is by what he’s hearing. He’d expected something more grand and valuable...But all he got instead was just a flimsy piece of paper with the face of an old man cluttered on it. Varian doesn’t see how this could be considered as even remotely valuable.

“What’s ‘ _American_ ’ supposed to mean?” Varian asks with a tired yawn, rubbing away the powder from his eyes. His skin’s oddly rough to the texture, feeling more like touching smooth sandpaper than actual human skin. 

Charlie and Vaggie seem to be at a loss for words, eyes blinking in sync. “You know, _American_. Word for people who live in America, the US? Please, you must know this.” Vaggie pleads in a high pitched tone, grasping at straws.

“No, I don’t.” Varian quips in frustration, teeth grinding together painfully. The way Charlie’s scrutinizing him doesn’t help either, red cheeks sucked in and mouth formed into a dainty little circle, eyebrows pulled up just right- creating the perfect replica of Princess Rapunzel’s signature pitying expression. 

Shivers climb up Varian’s spine, the reminder of _her_ bringing up some unpleasant memories.

“Where are you from, Varian?” Charlie implores innocently while rubbing her chin in thought. From the blonde hair to that sickly sweet smile, the similarities between Charlie and Rapunzel are simply uncanny.

“Corona.” Is all Varian can allow himself to say without gagging. 

“Like the viru-?“ The moth-woman gets flicked on the forehead by Charlie before she can even as much as dare to finish that sentence. “Where does Corona lie?” Her partner asks instead.

“Europe.” Varian casually shrugs. The couple glance at one another in bafflement, neither of them even having heard of a country named Corona before.

“Do you perhaps mean Germany?” Vaggie pries carefully, going by the slight accent. 

“Wha-? _No_ , I mean Corona.” Varian denies with an irritated pout, arms crossed defensively. Charlie- crowned master of believing almost any kind of bullshit, decides to go along with him.

“Okay, alright.” She says with a clap of her hands. “If we can work out what 32 dollars will be worth in- wait, I forgot, what’s your country’s currency?”

“The Coronan Coin.” Varian deadpans lazily, wanting to get this over with. But then he remembers something very, _very_ crucial that he just forgot. Cold sweat starts building up. 

‘ _Fuck_.’ Varian thinks.

“Great! As I was saying; If we can work out what 32 American dollars will be worth in Coronan coins, then you guys can pa-“

“I have no money.” There’s a halting pause. 

**_“...What?”_** The two women say in unison.

“I have no money, neither does Cass-... _I think_.” He adds with a gulp, voice airy.

******

When Charlie first let these people pass through the hotel’s doors, she felt dumbfounded. And this dumbfounded feeling still hasn’t worn off once despite several minutes passing by. 

The exterminator named Cassandra turns out to have a temper worse than Vaggie, now full on brawling with Angel Dust. It’s like watching two feral animals fight. They’re tugging on the opposing fighter’s hair, screaming obscenities and beating each other to a pulp. 

Charlie pulls a face, hoping they’ll tire themselves out soon before actual blood starts to spill.

Out of the two- Varian is _definitely_ the more passive one, sitting quietly on top of his stool while asking questions and giving clipped one-word answers to theirs, yawning every so often. Said questions and answers being nothing less than _strange_...

Charlie shakes her head. _‘He must be really tired.’_ She reasons, letting those bags under his eyes speak for themselves. They’re so dark compared to his sickly skin that differentiating between where the scleras start and skin ends is a challenge. In all honesty, he looks like he could pass out at any minute.

“What do you mean you’ve got no money?” Vaggie hisses out from behind grit teeth, facepalming loudly. The sound of the slap brings Charlie back to reality. Varian rubs the back of his neck, drops of sweat running down his little forehead. 

“I- uh, it’s a long story!” He says, twiddling his fingers together. Charlie doesn’t know if she should be worried or not, this is the most emotion she’s seen on his otherwise permanent resting sad-face.

“Shorten it down then.”Vaggie tells him, stone cold.

“Ah well- I don’t know about Cass, but you see, I got here barely two days ago, and money hasn’t exactly been an...how should I say it-... _available_ resource for me recently.” Varian gulps, head bowed down to the floor. Charlie frowns at what she hears, not liking it one bit. The princess of hell takes a good long look at the child. 

Most demons down here usually look quite...unique...in appearance- to put it kindly. It’s supposed to reflect their last moments as humans. Like if you drowned, you probably get traits from the last aquatic creature you saw _(those poor saps who saw sea snails)._

Although Charlie’s doesn’t have any idea as to what Varian’s demonic traits are supposed to represent, the tattered shirt that drapes down his lean torso giving more than enough away. 

It hangs on him like a tent, reaching down to the top of his thighs and showing knobby elbows. Charlie looks at his face with a pitying expression, seeing the protruding cheekbones and sunken in eyes.

_‘He must have starved to death...’_ She thinks to herself, saddened by the thought. Starvation is neither quick nor painless, able to span over weeks- _months_ even. It’s arguably one of the worst ways to go...

Throwing caution to the wind, Charlie makes a hard decision. “Money won’t be a problem. You and your friend can stay here for free.” She declares with determination, half-smiling. 

The resulting reaction is less than pleasant. Varian stares at her with his signature frown, and Vaggie...? _Vaggie doesn’t look happy in the slightest._

Her girlfriend stands up, posture stiff and side swept bangs hiding her face from view. **_“Charlie, we need to talk.”_** She says, tone serious.

‘ _Oh no._ ’ Is all Charlie can think before she starts being pulled away to a side room, out of earshot. 

“Hey, can I take another cup of coffee!?” Shouts Varian before the one-eyed woman can close the door. 

“Sure, knock yourself out! The kettle’s right over.” Vaggie shouts back, slamming the door shut and immediately thereafter shaking her shoulder back and forth. 

“I love you, but you’re an idiot.” Vaggie exclaims. “You can’t just let the two of them stay here for free!”

“Why not?” Charlie pouts.

“You know as well as I do why! Dealing with that freeloader Angel Dust has already put the hotel at risk of going bankrupt, what do you think dealing with two more might do? And besides, they’re scummy. I don’t trust them.”

The taller woman sighs. “Vaggie, we’ve talked about this. You can’t just make assumptions like that about other people-.”

“Yeah, I know.” Vaggie cuts off. “But listen; those two are dangerous. The kid is smart, even if he lacks basic knowledge about most things and is horribly delusional. On top of that, he also seems to hold this weird grudge against you.”

Charlie hums to herself, savoring the words. Vaggie isn’t wrong per say- Varian _has_ cast her particularly disdainful looks every time she’s spoken so far. Like he feels disturbed by her mere presence...

“What I’m trying to say is that I don’t want him anywhere near you. And that’s not even mentioning that damn exterminator.” Vaggie mumbles, biting her bottom lip. 

Another sigh leaves Charlie. “You have a fair point, and I get why you’re worried. They’re an... _interesting_...bunch to say the least. But refusing them would be going against _everything_ we’ve been trying to achieve for so long, and you know that.” She cups Vaggie’s cheek gently, tilting her head so she can see her beautiful pair of yellow eyes.

“I would do everything to protect my people, even if they in return just see me as a stupid and naive girl.” Charlie blinks, preventing the wetness building up within her eyes from leaking. This is no time to cry.

“This might be our _only_ chance at proving our theory of redemption true, Vaggie. Think about it; the _thousands_ of souls that would be spared every year, just because we didn’t give up on those two weirdos!” Charlie says, meaning every word. 

“That’s why I don’t care about the obvious red flags of keeping them here, because they actually considered the idea of redemption in their minds and decided to come here out of their own volition. So I need you to trust _them_ \- I need you to trust _me_. Can you do that?” 

Vaggie’s poker face is admirable, but after years of knowing her, Charlie can tell that she’s hesitant. Hawklike nose wrinkling slightly while her attention shifts between the floor, ceiling and Charlie’s face. Eventually, she finds her voice. 

“I don’t like this, not one bit. However, I _do_ trust you, so I’ll go along for now. But if either of them ever show the slightest intention of hurting you, they’re both dead meat.” 

A normal person would be at least a little concerned with that statement, although Charlie could be described as anything but normal, bouncing up and down with unconcealed joy. 

She bends down to give Vaggie a quick kiss on the lips before running out of the tiny room and into the lobby again with a childish grin plastered on her face, leaving Vaggie completely alone in the glorified closet. 

Vaggie shakes her head. _‘Dumbass didn’t even think to grab the keys.’_ She muses to herself with a little snort, finding it humorous. She walks the short way across the room, stopping in front a large cabinet standing against the wall. 

The shelves are divided into nine mini shelves both vertically and horizontally, leaving a total of 81 bedrooms to choose from. Vaggie feels an urge to pick the key to the tiny room in the basement, but ultimately decides to just pick a standard one situated on the second floor. 

... _Ugh_ , Charlie’s been rubbing off on her recently, making her all soft and stuff.

Feeling no need to stay in the closet any longer, Vaggie shuts the door and wander out out to the lobby again. Unlike Charlie, she slouches and looks to be the personification of a thundercloud. 

Turning the corner, Vaggie can immediately see how the two fighters are finally beginning to tire out, now throwing sluggish right hooks at each other rather than mean kicks. 

The delusional weirdo is once again chugging that cup of coffee like his afterlife depends on it, completely ignoring Charlie’s attempts at small talk. Vaggie feels how her already sour mood sours even more. 

She does not at all regret the ounce of satisfaction she feels after _‘accidentally’_ flinging her keys in his direction- smacking him dead center on the forehead.

  
Charlie turns towards her with a look of disapproval. Though Vaggie pays it no mind, flopping down onto the comfortable couch with a thud. 

“Your room i number 21 on the second floor, hallway to the left. There’s a bunkbed for you and your friend, and a bathroom which the two of you can share. The hotel treats you to breakfast and dinner, which are eaten down here.” She says like she’s reading from a script.

“Did you catch all that?” Vaggie finishes, fluttering her eyelashes passive aggressively. 

“Ye-“

“- _Good!_ Because I’m not repeating that ever again. Now straight to bed with you.” 

“Wha-“ 

“No more questions from you. I said go to bed. You look like you’ve been living in a dumpster for twenty whole years, and been dead for half of that time. It’s not a great look, so go get some sleep, kid.” 

Varian stares at her in puzzlement for a few moments, looking as if he’s debating whether or not he should say something. But he eventually just shakes his head and stands up, walking away towards the staircase with heavy steps, tripping every once in a while on the slippery floorboards.

When Varian said he’d come here recently, he clearly wasn’t kidding. Him- _like most new arrivers_ \- not quite having gotten the hang of his more demonic traits yet. The significantly narrower legs, together with the lack of human toes making it hard to keep balance.

...Vaggie finds it kind of funny, how someone as clumsy and innocent looking as him could even manage to land themself in hell of all places. It wouldn’t be hard to assume the kid as the ‘ _saint_ ’ if you compared him to his temperamental companion. 

“When did _you_ become such a mom?” Charlie says with a smug look. Vaggie snorts.

“And when did _you_ decide to become such a hypocrite, Charlie?” 

“Touché.”

******

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just for the funsies, what’s your favorite chapter so far, and why?


	20. Comfortable. Act 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy the chapter!

Varian’s never before sympathized more with the elderly than he does in this exact moment, while he’s climbing up this seemingly never ending staircase. 

Every step he takes feels like a gamble, where he can at any moment lose his balance and tumble back down with the same amount of grace as a dog high on helium, breaking only his spine if he’s lucky.

...

_Great_ , now he’s thinking about it! Thanks for _nothing_ , brain. 

Not wanting to suffer through the same fate as his mind just conjured up, Varian takes extra precaution to watch where he’s going, holding in a tense breath every time he puts his foot down.

Call him a scaredy-cat all you want, but his body can distinctly remember the agonizing pain he felt from after that time he jumped out a window. And he’ll _not_ do the same mistake twice, thank you very much!

The conversation downstairs tunes out the farther up Varian goes- until the hushed words turn into nothing more than incoherent mumbling. 

Varian doesn’t really know what to make of the hotel’s personnel. Everytime they answered one of his questions, he only ended up more confused than he already was. And they seemed horribly confused as to why he even needed to know in the first place. It’s like an optical illusion, no matter which way you look at it, it still doesn’t make any sense.  
  


Now, Varian could _technically_ go back down and talk some more if he’s being logical. But that would be _awkward_ , and he’s frankly seen enough of Rapunzel 2.0’s pitying expression to last a lifetime.

Miraculously, Varian manages to reach the the top of the stairs without too much issue- if you count out the ache in his limbs from the poor excuse he calls stamina. 

‘ _I really should exercise more.’_ Varian thinks bitterly to himself, panting heavily. He leans against the railing, waiting patiently for his heart to stop pounding like an excited six year old’s who just ate a whole bag of candy.

When Varian deems his body rested enough to keep going, he starts wandering around on the second floor, trying to remember the directions to his room. 

Varian peers down at the keys in his hand. On the keychain sits a little name tag reading ‘ _number 21_ ’ in a fancy font. Varian wrinkles his nose in disgust.

_‘And I thought my handwriting was atrocious_.’

Varian continues sporadically searching. Where did the moth-woman tell him to go again again? Hallway to the left? Hallway to the right? She talked so fast that he could barely hear her.

Varian’s broken out of his thoughts by seeing movement down the hall, from what looks to be a cleaning cart.

_ ‘What in the...?’ _

The cleaning cart comes to an immediate stop once the one pushing it notices him. A small figure comes zooming towards him at an impressive speed. 

It’s a woman just slightly over a meter tall, clad in a poofy skirt. Her hair is styled into a fiery red bob and there’s a single large googly eye placed right above her nose. She smiles intensely, needle like teeth showing.

“Oh my, who might _you_ be? I’m Niffty!” The woman shakes his hand up and down with rapid force, voice light and airy. “What’s a cutie-pie like you doing here? Wanna be friends?”

“I-“ Varian can’t even get a single word in before he’s interrupted for what seems to be the hundredth time that day.

“Lovely! How come you look so haggard- and dirty? I hate dirt. Are you sick? Should I get you medicine?” She’s right up in his face now. Varian instinctively takes a step back.

“No, fuck o- _I mean_ , there’s no need for that! Really!” 

Nice save there, Varian.

“Are you su-?”

**“Yes!** Actually, now that I think about it, I really need to go to my room. So you can continue cleaning- or whatever you’re doing in peace. _Bye-bye!”_ He speeds past the cyclops demon, getting farther and farther away from her by the second. 

Niffty doesn’t respond, but she follows him with her eye, creepy smile still pulling at her otherwise cute features. She kind of reminds him of the horned girl...

Varian feels a shudder run down his spine at the thought.

He doesn’t stop power-walking ‘till he’s reached the end of the hallway and turned the corner, making sure he’s out of eyesight. On a sign hanging from the ceiling reads ‘ _Rooms 15-30.’_ in the same fancy font as the name tag.

_‘How perfect.’_ He thinks, wandering through the grandiose corridor. Beside every door is a metal plate drilled into the wall, intricately detailed with carved roses and an assigned number. 

As Varian strolls past the various doors, he sees how the numbers keep increasing. 

_ ‘...17, 18, 19, 20...and finally, 21.’ _

Varian stands before the towering doorframe, taking a silent minute to just stare at it in wonder

....It’s pretty, objectively so. With the mahogany wood set deep into the thick wall, and the doorknob painted a matte black. The mere idea that he’ll be the one to stay in such a luxurious place is mind baffling to him, for free at that!

_‘You don’t deserve it.’_ A voice in his brain reminds...And it’s completely right, he doesn’t deserve it, doesn’t deserve anything. But Varian would and will selfishly take an undeserved place to stay at over no place to stay at any day of the week. 

So he puts his key into the lock, twisting the doorknob around and opening the door, it’s hinges screeching. Varian goes inside, immediately noticing the mint green walls- a color not found anywhere else in the hotel. 

Intrigue spiked and exhaustion ignored for the time being, Varian decides to explore the place. You’ve got to have your priorities straight, after all.

Just as the moth-woman said, there’s a bunkbed lined against the wall, with one plushy pillow each. But not just that, there’s also a little desktop with a shelf above it.

On the shelves lies a few books. Varian picks one up, mindlessly skimming through it. Most of the pages show floor maps of the hotel, talking about where some of the places are located in many different languages.

He puts the book back down, moving on to inspect something else of more interest. His eyes travel ‘round the bedroom, catching sight of a door next to the desktop. It must be the so called ‘bathroom’ Vaggie was speaking about before- whatever that’s supposed to mean

As if spellbound, Varian wanders towards it, enthralled over what might be on the other side. Opening the door up, he sees that it’s got the same mint walls as the bedroom, the floor underneath him made of white tiles. 

Varian walks further inside, avoiding looking at his reflection in the mirror to the best of his ability.

There’s only a select few things in room that Varian’s able to recognize, mainly the towel and bar of soap lying on the counter, similar to the ones that exist in Corona (although, only the richest’s got them available. The rest just having to deal with smelling like dirt for the most part.)

Varian decides to check the bathtub looking invention out. He swipes a swift hand over the pearly white surface, feeling the material. He thinks it’s made of porcelain. 

There’s a tap connected to the edge of the tub- two knobs on either side; one red and one blue. Varian curiously turns the blue knob around.

He does not at all expect fresh water to come flooding out.

Varian scrambles away from the tub on reflex, but comes bouncing back to it like the punching bag he is, putting a hand under the faucet. The water’s cold to the touch, almost icy as it rushes down the drain.

He turns the tap on and off, unable to believe what’s happening before his very eyes. Yet it’s not a hallucination, the water’s real, and it’s coming pouring out over and over again without fail. 

‘ _Amazing_.’ Varian thinks in astonishment, starry eyed. 

He turns the red knob for a change, excited what that one might do. The icy feeling in his fingertips gets replaced by an almost _boiling_ sensation as the water gets increasingly hot. Varian has to pull his hand away to not accidentally burn himself. 

Eager to find out how this phenomenon’s even possible, he crouches down and puts his head on the ground, wanting to see the inner workings of this bathtub. What he finds are pipes- thin, wiry pipes- going straight through the floor, probably reaching deep underground. 

Where those pipes go, he’s got no idea- but there’s _probably_ a source that freezes and heats the water somewhere down below that they have to connect to.

It’s eerily similar to what Varian tried to do with the water boilers under his village, only that his attempt failed and this one didn’t...

(Complete and utter bullshit, that’s what it is.)

As Varian hauls himself back up to his feet, a few loose strands of hair takes the perfect opportunity to fall in front of his face, pricking him right in the eyes. Now long enough to do so. 

_‘Damn hair, why does it have to grow? So inconvenient.’_ Varian huffs with puffed out cheeks, annoyed,

He tucks the strands back to where they belong, getting a firsthand experience of touching the greasy mess that is his scalp. Seriously, Varian wouldn’t even _need_ to butter a frying pan with an actual stick of butter, the birds nest on top of his head works more than well enough. 

But he should’ve expected that after not having washed it for over a month. It was _bound_ to get in this condition sooner or later. 

Doesn’t make him any less squeamish about it, though. 

Varian peers down at the bathtub- then the towel- and lastly the bar of soap and bottle labeled ‘ _shampoo_ ’ standing next to it. He quickly reads the ingredients on the backside with a critical eye. What he gets from it is that it’s basically soap- but for hair.

...

An idea spawns in his mind, one he just absolutely cannot refuse. 

It’s time for a _long_ overdue bath.

******

Varian walks out the bathroom with a tired yawn, hair static by how much he’s been rubbing it with the towel. 

His clothes cling to his wet frame like glue, restricting movement of any kind. From all the time he spent in prison, he almost forgot how uncomfortable this feeling could be. 

Varian waddles away like a duck towards the bunk bed, steps sluggish and eyes half-lidded. It seems like exhaustion is finally beginning to catch up on him. He ignores the top bunk in its entirety, instead dropping into the bottom one. 

‘ _So soft_.’ He thinks the moment his body hits the cushion. ‘ _So warm_.’ 

Varian pulls the bedsheet up to his nose, wrapping himself in it like a cocoon. He mushes his head mushed against the fluffy pillow, it holding a faint scent of lavender.

It’s been a long, _long_ time since he last slept in such a soft and real feeling bed, but this was well worth the wait. 

Varian can’t even count to ten before he falls into a deep slumber, a look of pure bliss painted on hisface- eyes closed and lips pulled into a dopey smile. 

He dreams.

...

******

...

“Mommy, mommy! Look at me!” A young Varian shouts to his mother from on top the blooming apple tree, waving at her. She chuckles at his antics. “You’re doing great, beansprout! But come back down from there before you hurt yourself!”

Varian groans. “Geez, I’m fine, _mom_.” He says with a roll of his eyes. His attitude doesn’t go unnoticed by his mom’s hawk eyes. She raises one eyebrow, smirking at him. 

“Oh, really? Well, stay up there for however long you want then. All while I get to eat the wonderful food your father’s prepared.” She puts a sassy hand over her chest, then sniffs the air. 

“Can you smell that? I _bet_ he’s almost done by now. You _sure_ you don’t wanna come down and eat something?” 

Varian’s stomach grumbles, betraying him in his time of need. He stubbornly ignores it. “No, I like it up here.” 

Mom sighs dramatically, leaning against the doorframe. “Such a shame, truly, we’d have loved to keep you company. And I heard your father was treating us to dessert today too...”

The young boy turns his head at breakneck speed. **“Dessert?!** Can I have some?” He squeals, flashing a toothy grin at his mother that extends from ear to ear, a few of his baby-teeth lose. Particularly the front ones, two larger than rest growing in their place. 

Mom chuckles again. “I don’t know...Naughty boys who won’t get down from that apple tree might not get any~.” She sing-songs. “It’s all your choice, sweetie~.” Is the last things she says before walking inside the house, intentionally leaving a spring of the door open. 

Varian grumbles, moving to climb down the tree- which turns out to be much harder of a challenge than climbing up ever was. Not paying attention to where he’s going, Varian accidentally steps on a branch too thin to hold his weight. 

The branch snaps in half, making him trip. Leaves, sticks and the likes scratch him in the face as he falls, getting stuck in his hair. He hits the lush grass down below face first with a resounding smack.

‘ _Ouch_.’ 

He stands up, feeling his world spinning. Varian shrugs it off, running across the grassy meadow towards the house. 

The moment he comes inside, he’s greeted by the sound of clanking plates and wonderful smell of vanilla sponge. Varian’s mouth waters at the mere mention of it.

He peeks his head inside the kitchen, seeing mom giving dad a kiss. ‘ _Yuck_.’ Varian thinks, wrinkling his nose. Mom seems to feel his eyes boring into her, because she turns around to look at him. 

“Ha! _There_ he is, Quirin. Told you he would come!” She walks towards him.

“What’re you talking about?” Varian asks, tilting his head like a puppy.

“Nothing, sweetie.” Mom crouches before his short build, taking in his ruffled state. She rubs a tissue over his scratched up cheek, swiping away dirt. Mom lets out a deep sigh. “I see you fell again. You really need to be more careful, beansprout.”

Varian rolls up and down on his feet, suddenly finding the floor very interesting. 

“I didn’t fall this time. You’ve got no _proof._ ” He mumbles. Mom raises an eyebrow. 

“Oh? What about this.” She plucks a twig out of his hair, expression mischievous. Varian’s cheeks flush. 

“I- _uh_ , I... That’s not important!” Mom snorts into the palm of her hand.

“Okay, okay, have it your way then. But listen to what I have to say at least.” She tilts his chin up with her finger, making Varian hold eye contact with his mother’s blue eyes. Her frizzy ginger hair has been pulled up into a messy bun, a pair of goggles sitting on top.

“You’re a smart kid, Varian- _incredibly_ smart, and I couldn’t be any more proud of you. But you have to understand that me and your father get worried sick everytime you pull these dangerous stunts left and right.” She pulls him into a warm hug, holding him tight.

“You’ll give both of us heart attacks someday, I swear. But that’s part of life isn’t it?  Just try not to give your poor ol’ mother an early death now, ‘kay?.” 

“Okay, I’ll try.”  


Mom chuckles, mom chuckles a lot. 

“I love you.” She says, squeezing him a little tighter. 

Varian squeezes his mother back, taking in the faint lavender scent she always seems to carry no matter what happens. “I love you too.” 

...

“You didn’t love me enough, Varian.” Comes mom’s voice suddenly, sharp and cold as ice. Varian immediately lets go of the embrace, confused. His mother drops to the ground, stiff as a corpse.

“Why didn’t you save me from the sickness, boy? Aren’t you supposed to be _smart_?” She continues in a distorted tone, despite not moving her lips. 

Mom’s skin no longer sun kissed like it was just a few moments ago, now instead an ashen- almost translucent hue. Her eyes are rolled way back into her head, only the milky whites visible. A crimson liquid comes out of her mouth, dripping out onto the floorboards and seeping into the crevices- nearing him. 

Young Varian steps away from the blood in horror, feeling sick to his stomach. He doesn’t stop backing away from the sight until he hits something rock solid. 

Varian turns around in fright, tears flowing freely down his petrified face. The breath he’s about to take hitches once he sees what’s behind him. 

There, inside the large crystalline structure is his father’s suspended corpse encased, almost as if judging him. Varian falls to his knees, shaky legs no longer able hold all his weight.

“You killed me.” Dad’s distorted voice echoes throughout the room, cutting deep like a knife. Varian shuts his eyes, covering his ears with trembling hands. He desperately tries to keep the deafening sounds out.

_ ‘It’s all in my head. It’s not real, it can’t be real. Stop listening to it, Varian. It’s all in my head. **It’s all in my-‘** _

...But it’s to no avail.

** It.  **

** Just.  **

** Won’t.  **

** Stop. **

“You killed us. How could you do such a thing, you demon!” His parents accuse.

“You’re not our sweet son anymore, you’re a murderer- a monster!” They scream.

“We never should’ve had you!”

Young Varian presses harder and harder on his ears to drown out the noise, so much so that it almost feels like his head might crack under the pressure. 

...

But then he feels a gentle breeze brushing his pale cheek, blowing through his hair. At first Varian thinks it’s just his mind playing tricks on him, but the breeze comes again without fail- just as gentle as the first time. 

The sheer suddenness of it makes him loosen up the hold he has on his ears slightly. And to his surprise, it’s quiet...

It’s so quiet...

...No screams or accusations, just a drumming silence in the air. 

_‘It’s- is it over?’_ He dares to think, eyes still shut. Varian opens them slowly, afraid that he’ll witness the exact same scene again. But what he sees is anything but. 

Colorful skies invades Varian’s vision- constantly shifting between bright purples and reds. It’s impossible to tell if it’s dawn or dusk.  


He moves his gaze downwards, regarding the unusually pale wheat he’s only seen existing in one place before. One big realization dawns on him.

_ ‘I’m at the wheat field.’  _

******

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was tricky to write! It’s quite important to the plot, even if it might not seem like it. And sorry for being so slow with the updates recently, I only want to give the best possible product I can create every update! 
> 
> On that note: I’ve redone chapter 1 and 3, because they were frankly unreadable. Still working on chapter 2 though. Feel free to read them over if you want! See if I’ve improved or not.
> 
> Spoiler for next chapter: “Who even are you?!” Varian shouts.


	21. A/N

Soooo, here we are. If you’ve noticed, I haven’t updated in a while, and there’s a reason. I’ve hit writers block, and I haven’t been able to write a single word for this incoming chapter. I’m sorry for doing that to you guys.   
  


But until this block wears off, I won’t be able to update anything. I have to focus on my health and choose a good High school for the incoming fall. I’ll selfishly spend all this time on myself. You can find me on Tumblr, I’ll post stuff there. But until then, this story is on hiatus, even orphaned for an undecided amount of time.   
  
Once again, I’m so sorry for this. 

—Quacky

******

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first ever fic! I have slight dyslexia so I sometimes can’t spell things correctly even though I know the words! So if I’ve made a grammatical error, please point it out.
> 
> Criticism is appreciated, as long as it’s constructive!  
> Have a nice day everyone!
> 
> Act 1: Centered in Tangled verse.  
> Act 2: Centered in Hazbin Hotel verse.  
> Act 3: ???
> 
> Come and scream at me on my tumblr if you want!  
> My username is @quackyduckydoodoo


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